The Mulgrews of Waterloo Road
by LisaT
Summary: Alt Season 9 fic. Episode Eight: As Dynasty's tablets begin to take effect, Imogen is caught between love and friendship as she tries to persuade Christine that there's something very wrong with Connor...
1. Episode 1-1

**A/N: Hi folks! This is my first fic for WR, hopefully the first of ten, written in a style that hopefully resembles the show. I'm planning a ten-part 'alternative season nine' focusing mainly but not exclusively on the Mulgrews. Dynasty and Kevin will also have their fair share. Shipwise, this will be C/I, D/K, but probably no romantic interest for Christine at this point—I think she's got her hands full as it is! Oh, and I've made this an autumn term. I know it's probably supposed to take place in the summer term, but that seems unlikely for several reasons:**

**1. It's clearly freezing. You can see people's breath when they talk outside. I know Scotland is cold, but Greenock isn't THAT cold. **

**2. The mention of Scout having started her teacher training; that implies that this is a new academic year, even if it's still S8. **

**3. Liberty's interview: while it's a bit early in the UCAS cycle, it's not impossible for her to have an interview around October/November—although I doubt it's as late as that. **

**Anyhow, this is fanfic so I'm calling it an autumn term. I also use 'headmistress' rather than 'headteacher'— unless 'headteacher' is most appropriate—but that's personal preference. **

**A couple of things for you to know: I am deaf with a small d, which means that I'm primarily oral and use hearing aids, just as Imogen does. Therefore you may be sure that anything I write relating to Imogen's deafness is authentic. Secondly, I trained as a teacher. That'll influence how I write, inevitably, so there'll be at least as much Christine/staff-centric stuff as there is C/I etc. Concrit, feedback and general cheering :D always welcome, and any ideas you may have are also very welcome! So… read and enjoy…!**

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_Episode blurb: It's Christine's second day as Headmistress of Waterloo Road, and it starts badly when the new deputy is openly hostile during staff briefing. Then a minor bump on the head has potentially devastating consequences for Imogen, Tom returns from the hospital with tragic news of Budgen, and Christine discovers Michael's final betrayal…_

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**7.00 am, Mulgrew Home**

Imogen Stewart—now Mulgrew, although that was still being kept under wraps for the moment—gave a muffled growl of frustration when she knocked a hearing aid off the window sill in the Mulgrew bathroom. She'd always been scolded for bringing her aids into the bathroom, given the dangers of water to circuitry, but old habits died hard. Fortunately, the aid had not gone into the toilet (Imogen did not like the prospect of explaining _that_ to either her mother or her mother-in-law, particularly when the latter was also her headmistress); unfortunately, she failed to take note of where the solid ceramic toilet paper holder was, and gave her head a not inconsiderable crack as she straightened, more than a little dizzy, with the escapee hearing aid in hand.

'Well done, Imogen,' she muttered to herself as she twisted the hearing aid into her ear with an expert turn of her fingers and switched it on. The combination of angry hearing aid squeal and the sudden loudness of her own voice made her wince. '_Really_ well done, girl.'

Ruefully, she bent forward to examine her Celtic-fair pale skin in the rapidly clearing bathroom mirror, and grimaced at the sight of the ugly red mark on her temple. On anyone else such a relatively light blow would not show, but Imogen's fine skin had always bruised easily. She pulled a couple of strands of dark hair over her forehead, settled her headband, took a deep breath, and vacated the bathroom slowly in time to the pounding in her head. It was only a minor bump; it'd hurt for a while and then she'd be fine. Just fine.

**7.30, Mulgrew Home**

'Connor! Imogen!' Christine Mulgrew's voice carried easily through her home, imbued with the force and authority granted her by more than fifteen years in the classroom. She was rewarded by the instant sound of clattering and voices, and her son and daughter-in-law appeared before her, looking unconscionably bright and cheery for this dark hour of an October morning.

Christine's lips twitched despite her own general disapproval of the time; left to her own devices she would have slept for another hour or two, but a headteacher must be an early bird even when it goes against the grain.

'I don't know what you two are looking so happy about,' she told them tartly as she prepared to lead them from the house. 'Today isn't going to be plain sailing, you know. Imogen—' She turned to face her daughter-in-law. 'Are you sure you want to do this? No-one's making you.'

'Of course she does,' Connor put in, taking his wife's hand, and the two exchanged a look.

Christine rolled her eyes. 'Yes, thank you, Connor, but I was talking to Imogen. Well?'

The girl beamed, her large eyes glowing with happiness. 'He's right, Mrs Mulgrew. Um, Christine,' she corrected sheepishly. 'I really do want to do this. I never liked my dad, and I love Connor… Please, I'd rather be a Mulgrew than a Stewart!'

Christine looked from one teenager to the other, and for a moment she found herself envying their utter togetherness, the tangibility of their connection. She'd never had that, not really. Perhaps with Joe, if it wasn't for his father— She straightened her shoulders and refused to let her mind follow that path. She knew where it would lead, they all did. Today was not about the past; it was about the future. A new beginning for them all—for Imogen, as Imogen Mulgrew, for herself, as 'Christine Mulgrew, Headmistress' and for Waterloo Road itself.

She nodded. 'All right then. If you're sure.' She took a deep breath and reached for the snip to unlock the door. 'We're all ready?'

'Waterloo Road won't know what hit it,' Connor assured her. 'You were epic yesterday. Way more epic than Byrne ever was, even if he did pay my debts.' The scorn in the boy's voice made her flinch, but she steeled herself to flash him a smile over her shoulder. Connor grinned. 'Go, Mum!'

'Go, go, go,' Imogen chanted, grinning widely, and Christine shook her head in reluctant amusement.

'H'mm! OK, then, let's move. Waterloo Road, here we come!'

**8.15 am, Waterloo Road Staff Room**

'Christine did well yesterday,' Audrey McFall announced into a sudden lull of conversation whilst the staff awaited their morning briefing from the Head. 'I don't mind admitting that I was surprised—and very, very proud of her when she pulled it off.'

Nikki Boston, one of the deputy heads, nodded. 'The Sixth are certainly very impressed with her. Even the Barrys—even Barry Barry!' she added with a meaningful quirk of a dark brow. 'I don't think there'll be any more trouble with them for a spell. _Michael_ never managed to get round Carol like that.'

'How did she do it?' someone asked from the kitchenette.

Nikki's quirked lips widened into a smile. 'Told Carol Barry she liked her right hook, from all accounts. Wish I'd thought of that.'

'Well, you had your chance,' Audrey said, eying her over the top of her spectacles. 'Don't begrudge Christine her opportunity. She's going to need all our support.'

'I don't,' Nikki responded. 'We made our peace yesterday. I went to see her with an office-warming present. For whatever good it might do,' she ended with a sigh, and Audrey tilted her head, characteristically birdlike.

'What's wrong?'

The door opened and Christine entered. Nikki grimaced.

'_That_ is what's wrong,' she murmured to the older woman, jerking her head in the direction of the young man who'd followed the new Headmistress into the room. 'He's going to be trouble. I'd put money on it.'

**8.30am, Waterloo Road Staff Room**

Christine's smile was so wide that it hurt her cheekbones as she gestured for her new deputy head to come forward, looking ridiculously boyish with his shock of wild curls.

'Good morning, everyone,' she began quietly, and the last remnants of chatter faded as her staff turned to face her. 'I've an announcement to make. As you know, we are once again a council school, and that will lead to changes.' She tried to keep the distaste from her voice, and the effort intensified the Scottish burr of her accent. 'Allow me to introduce the first of those changes. Please welcome Simon Lowsley, who has been appointed deputy head.'

There was a half-hearted murmur of welcome before Audrey spoke.

'Deputy head? Do you mean we're going to have _three_? There's already Tom and Nikki—'

Simon Lowsley chose that moment to speak for himself. 'No, there'll still be two. Myself and Tom Clarkson, who I understand has served as deputy for a while.' There was a moment's stunned silence, but Lowsley continued blithely, as if unaffected by the sudden atmosphere. 'Where is Tom? I haven't met him yet.'

'Uh, Simon—' Awkwardly, Christine brushed a stray hair away from her eyes and turned to look the young man. 'Tom isn't here,' she said, _sotto voce_. 'He's at the hospital. One of our staff has been very ill with kidney failure and they're old friends, so—'

Simon's jaw hardened. 'I see. I'm sorry about that, but his first duty is to the school. Why haven't you pulled him in, Christine?'

Christine bit her lip and forced another rictus smile. 'Because Tom is planning to donate a kidney to Grantly,' she said. 'He has our full support, Mr Lowsley, please don't doubt that. Grantly has only just woken up after a coma that has lasted for weeks.'

'H'mmm.' Simon did not sound convinced; his eyes were cold. 'I'm starting to see why I was recommended for this post.'

'_What?!_' Nikki bounded to her feet, her jaw square with fury. 'Who do you think you are, waltzing in here—'

Christine reached over to lay a finger on the other woman's arm, distracting her. 'Leave it, Nikki. I'll deal with it.' It was a relief when Nikki visibly subsided, and Christine prepared to continue with her announcements. 'In other news, then, people. You all know what's happened to Dynasty Barry. It's expected that Steve-O will be called to trial shortly, and she'll need to testify. It's a gruelling thing to expect a girl of seventeen to endure, so keep a close watch on her and Kevin Chalk. We don't want either going off the rails. The same is true for Barry and Kacey, of course, but I'm most concerned with those two.' She paused and her lips twitched. 'The other thing is … um… a little more personal. I'm sure you're all aware that Imogen Stewart and my son have become … close?'

There was a ripple of laughter and Christine felt some of the tension drain from her shoulders. 'Yes, they have been a wee bit obvious, haven't they? Well, they're about to become more obvious still.' She stopped and the staff stared at her, obviously eager to know what she would say.

'Spit it out, Christine,' Audrey advised. 'Whatever it is, it can't be that bad. Unless Imogen's pregnant?' She sounded alarmed, and Christine couldn't blame her. Imogen was one of their best and brightest.

She shook her head. 'Not to my knowledge,' she assured the history teacher. 'Well, she better not be. If she is, I'll kill them!'

Audrey smiled. 'That's a relief. No offense to Connor, but—!'

'They're not,' Christine repeated firmly, making a mental note to give her son and daughter-in-law a stern talking-to on the subject of contraception. 'They are, however … married, and Imogen has decided to use Mulgrew instead of Stewart for the future.'

After a shocked pause a smile rippled around the staff. Some of them knew what Connor and Imogen had endured since they met, and Christine—herself the cause of much of that suffering—was relieved to see there would be no repercussions from that quarter. She relaxed as various staff members bombarded her with good wishes and questions and even the odd barb of teasing, but just as she thought they'd got away with a potentially tricky situation, a low voice whispered in her ear, 'I'd like a word in your office, if we may, Mrs Mulgrew.'

She glanced at her newest deputy, and her heart sank all the way to her toes. There was no friendship in those dark eyes, only implacable dislike.


	2. Episode 1-2

_Thanks for all your lovely reviews! Guests, do remember I can't thank you personally if you don't sign in! :) Enjoy!_

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**8.45am, Head's Office**

Christine stalked past Sonya into her office, ignoring the secretary's startled gaze. When Simon followed her in, she wheeled to close the door with a firmness that kept it just on the controlled side of 'slam'.

'Right, Simon,' she said as she turned, arms folding, 'what is your problem? Your behaviour in there was insensitive, never to mention unprofessional—'

'Says the woman who allows a member of her senior staff to go AWOL without repercussions, loses half her sixth form on her first day, and aids and abets underage marriage—'

'Don't be absurd, they're both seventeen,' Christine interrupted shortly. 'Of legal age to marry, especially in Scotland.'

'It doesn't matter. You're supposed to be head teacher here, Christine! It's bad enough that your son is a pupil; it's even worse that you now have a daughter-in-law here as well! How's anyone going to take you seriously?'

Christine's lips thinned. 'I think you'll find that I made it clear yesterday _just_ how seriously I intend to be taken,' she began dangerously. 'As for Connor and Imogen, we live nearby. Why should he have to travel to Havelock just because of me? I have my faults, but I don't think anyone's ever accused me of favouritism before.' _It's more like the reverse_, she thought with a guilty pang, but she was careful to show no hint of that guilt in face or voice. 'And Imogen is a young woman of great inner strength and genuine ability. Believe me, we'd all miss her if she left. Their relationship is not a secret; if it was going to be a problem we'd have discovered it by now.'

'You'll leave me to be the judge of that,' Simon responded. A bell rang. 'I'm going. As Clarkson's still AWOL, someone needs to cover his form's registration.'

'I was going to do that,' Christine told him quietly.

'I don't think so. That's the form your son's in, isn't it? It's not appropriate.' Before she could protest further he'd crossed the room to the door and opened it, glancing back over his shoulder. 'Just remember, Christine Mulgrew. You're on probation and I'm watching you.' He departed with an undoubted slam, and Christine sank, trembling, into her chair, her hands clenching and unclenching in her lap. Never had she so longed for a drink…

'Mrs Mulgrew?' Sonya ventured, and she glanced up at the secretary. Sonya's face could never lie, and her wide eyes and round mouth betrayed her shock. 'What was _that_?'

She managed to drag forth a reassuring smile. 'It was nothing, Sonya. Nothing.' She took a deep breath. 'Shall we get on with that pile of papers we put aside last night?'

Sonya smiled and vanished, and Christine concentrated on breathing in, and out, and in again. No-one ever said it would be easy, but she'd find a way to cope. She must.

**11.01am, Mr Clarkson's room**

'Are you _serious_?' Dynasty Barry's Scouse accent was stronger than ever as she leaned towards her best friend just after the bell had gone for the end of Break. 'You're not havin' me on? You an' Connor are goin' public?'

Imogen nodded brightly, spreading the fingers of her left hand to show her wedding ring to best advantage, and Dynasty grabbed the hand to examine the ring closely.

'You've seen it before,' Imogen pointed out with amusement.

'Yeah, but it was always on that chain before,' Dynasty argued, twisting Imogen's hand in order to examine the ring from every possible angle. She sighed. 'You're so lucky.'

'Says she whose boyfriend will be a multimillionaire by the time he's thirty,' Imogen teased as she hauled her bag onto her desk and began to extract her folder and her copy of Browning's _My Last Duchess._

Dynasty imitated her with another sigh. 'Yeah, but who's to say we'll still be together? I'm no bimbo, but I'm not in Kevin's league, and after everythin'—' She stopped and tugged anxiously at one loose golden curl. 'He'll get tired of me, Imogen. I'm sure of it.'

'Rubbish! He worships the ground you walk on. Anyone can see that. He comes alight when you're near.' She heaved a sigh of her own. 'I think it's cute. Connor still sometimes behaves as though I'm some precious statue, even though it's months and months since the fire.'

The door opened, Mr Lowsley entered, and the class stumbled to its collective feet, Imogen knocking over her pencil-case as she did so. 'Bugger,' she muttered in an aside to her friend. 'That's the second time I've done that today.'

Dynasty smirked, one belashed eye following the new teacher as he moved towards Mr Clarkson's desk. 'You better get it together, Im. I don't think _he'll_ accept love as an excuse.'

'Hah,' Imogen scoffed as Mr Lowsley barked at them to sit down. She bent down to retrieve her pencil case before retaking her seat, aware that the pounding in her head had suddenly become acute, almost migraine-like in its intensity. When she straightened everything turned fuzzy and she collapsed limply into her chair.

**11.10am, Mr Clarkson's room**

'Imogen!' Dynasty's voice was higher than she intended as she tried to rouse her friend without alerting the rest of the class that something was wrong; Connor frowned in her direction, and Dynasty gave him a wide smile before turning back to Connor's wife. 'Imogen, are you OK?'

Imogen's dark lashes fluttered and she opened dazed blue eyes. She blinked, once, twice, three times, and a fine line of confusion appeared between her brows.

Dynasty's stomach flipped with fear. 'Imogen, speak to me,' she hissed as Mr Lowsley began droning about what he expected from them. He'd been so occupied with drumming in his 'class rules' that he'd failed to notice Imogen's state. 'Please, darlin'. You're scarin' me.'

'Dyn… stop whispering,' Imogen murmured. 'I can't hear you.'

Dynasty heaved a sigh of relief. She'd encountered this before and she knew how to deal with it. 'Well, I'm not whispering, then,' she retorted quickly. 'It's them batteries of yours. They've gone an' failed again. Quick, you better change 'em before 'e gets wound up,' she finished, nodding towards the teacher.

Imogen was staring at her blankly, and Dynasty heaved a sigh of exasperation, reached out to grab her friend's pencil case and rapidly removed the blue six-pack of hearing aid batteries that lived there. 'Here,' she said. 'Put 'em in.' She tapped her own ear and Imogen nodded.

'They can't be flat already,' she muttered as she picked up the six-pack. 'I only changed them yesterday.'

'I can't help that. You're not hearin' me now, so change 'em,' Dynasty insisted, touching her own ears again for emphasis.

Imogen stared at her, her eyes very wide, and Dynasty gave her an encouraging nod. 'Go on, then.' The other girl obeyed, and when she returned the aids to her ear, Dynasty grinned. 'All better now?' She gave Imogen a thumbs-up sign, but her friend bit her lip and shook her head.

'It's still not right. It's not loud enough.'

'Try another,' Dynasty encouraged, tapping the pack.

Imogen swallowed and did so, and Dynasty watched in horror when her friend's usually pale complexion turned a sickly shade of grey.

'It's not right,' Imogen repeated, her hands beginning to shake. 'Dynasty, they're not working!'

'Hey!' a voice interrupted harshly, and Dynasty jumped. The new teacher had appeared beside their desk, and was looming over them, clearly displeased. 'Would you care to share your thoughts on the poem?'

'I—I—' Dynasty stammered, uncharacteristically flummoxed. Beside her, she was aware that Imogen was feverishly taking out batteries and replacing them, over and over. Her distress restored Dynasty's self-assurance, and she lifted her chin to its usual cocky angle. 'Sir, it's Imogen. She's shocking upset, like. Can't I take her away for a bit?'

'What's wrong with her?' Connor demanded, jumping up from his seat.

'It's her hearin' aids, see,' Dynasty explained, ignoring the increasingly irate teacher at her side. 'They're not working.'

'SIT DOWN!' Mr Lowsley bellowed. 'Yes, Mr Mulgrew, that means you. I don't care what's wrong with your wife or who your mother is, this is a lesson and you WILL NOT be allowed to disrupt it!'

Connor, almost as white as his wife, dropped sullenly back into his place. Dynasty nodded in satisfaction when she saw Kevin give their friend a supporting clasp of the shoulder; that took care of _him_ and she could focus on Imogen, who was clearly struggling to keep it together. She glanced at Mr Lowsley, who was still glaring at her, and came to a decision.

'Sir, Imogen needs help,' she insisted, stepping away from her desk. 'Please, sir. Just look at her.'

'Take one more step, Miss Barry, and you'll find yourself suspended so fast it'll make your head spin,' Mr Lowsley threatened. 'I don't know how you've been allowed to behave before, but things have changed—'

Dynasty flipped her wild mop of hair over one shoulder, and her red lips curved in a disdainful smirk. 'And _you're_ gonna stop me? I'd like to see you try it, _sir_!' And she twisted on her heel and left in search of the Head.

**11.45am, Mrs Mulgrew's room**

'Now, then, do you understand what I want you to do?' Christine smiled at the group of Year 7 pupils in front of her as they nodded eagerly. 'Good; get started and let me know if you want help—by _raising your hand_!' she added warningly. Some of these children insisted on shouting out, and they were too young to listen to each other.

When the form had settled to its work, Christine circulated a final time before returning to the familiar haven of her classroom desk. _This_ was her place, she felt, not the isolated grandeur of the Head's office. Michael had been wrong about a lot of things, but he'd been absolutely right about the privilege of teaching, and she swore there and then that she would allow no-one to take that privilege from her—not even if she had to work to midnight every night to keep up!

Humming softly, she drew a pile of exercise books towards her. It was becoming clear that every spare moment must be utilised if she was ever to keep on top of both her marking and administrative work; a Head's work was never done. She glanced at the name on the cover and smiled. Lula Tsibi was a passionate young woman and her essays always made interesting—if not grammatically correct—reading. She picked up a green pen and began to scan.

The peace of the classroom was disrupted by the entrance of Dynasty Barry, looking angrier than Christine had ever seen her. She raised her eyebrows questioningly as the girl stormed down the aisle between the desks to stand before her, aware that the little ones were taking advantage of the distraction to ignore their own work.

'Year 7, back to your books, please,' she ordered firmly, and only when they had obeyed her did she turn her full attention to the older Barry girl. 'What is it, Dynasty?'

Dynasty gave the Year 7s a quick glance before she spoke, her tone quiet although her eyes still flashed annoyance. 'It's Imogen, Mrs Mulgrew. There's something wrong with her hearin', or her hearin' aids. I'm not sure which but she's in a right state, and that new teacher is bein' a complete shithead—' Her voice rose as she ended, and Christine raised her eyebrows in a silent warning to the Sixth former to moderate her language and tone.

The girl caught on. 'Please, Mrs Mulgrew. I've never seen her like this before. You've got to come.'

Christine blinked, caught for a moment in a haze of deja-vu. It was not so long since Imogen herself had used those very words about Dynasty.

'Connor's really upset too,' Dynasty pleaded, breaking into her thoughts. 'Kevin's keeping a hand on 'im, but everyone's gettin' angry and—and…' She dropped her long, false lashes and chewed her lip.

'All right. All right, I'll come,' Christine agreed, pushing herself to her feet. The children watched her warily, and she sighed inwardly. Now what was she supposed to do? She couldn't leave the Year 7s—

'I'll watch thes'uns,' Dynasty offered, as if she could read the Head's mind. 'They're working, ain't they? Can't be much to it.' Her eyes roved the class dismissively and Christine had to bite back a sudden insane desire to laugh.

'Are you sure?'

Dynasty folded her arms, looking offended. 'Why, Miss? Don't'cha think I can do it? Just watch me. You there!' One long, painted talon of a nail jabbed in the direction of a child in the front row. 'Yeah, you with the lime green pencil in yer gob. Spit it out this minute. Didn't your ma ever tell you there's germs on that?'

The stunned child obeyed on the word, and Christine nodded. It looked like Dynasty _could_ keep them in hand, right enough—provided she didn't threaten them with that criminal of a brother, of course.

'OK, Dynasty, they're all yours. Class!' The children sat up and looked at her. 'I need to leave you for a bit, but Dyn—Miss Barry,' she amended with a secret grin, 'will stay with you until the bell goes or I get back. I expect you to treat her as you would a member of staff, is that clear?'

There was a subdued murmur of _Yes, Miss _and Christine escaped, once again dying to laugh—but when the door closed on the complacent Dynasty and the mildly terrorised first years, all amusement fled. Imogen's notes included reference to the fact that any blow to the head—even a light one—could result in further hearing loss. If _that_ was what had happened…


	3. Episode 1-3

_Thanks for all the lovely reviews! Here's more; slowest school day in history. I do hope slow doesn't equal boring!_

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**Noon, Mr Clarkson's room**

Connor's eyes were fixed on Imogen's dark head, his entire body rigid with anxiety and and the tension that came from restraining himself from jumping up to go to her, Mr Lowsley or no Mr Lowsley. Only the words he'd said to Imogen the day before kept him in his place: _I can't betray my mum_. He'd spent so much of his life watching out for his mother, trying to protect her from her own frailties, and he couldn't stop now just because she'd become headmistress. Besides, Lowsley had already made it abundantly clear that he had no time for Connor as his mother's son.

Concentration, however, was something else. He stared fixedly at the long pattern of lines that made up Browning's poem, and anything Lowsley might have had to say about it went straight over his head. Imogen, he could see, had given up any pretence of paying attention; her head was down on the desk, and she was shaking violently. Connor bit his lip so hard that he tasted blood, and he glared black hatred at the teacher who was forcing them to endure this.

A sharp jab in the ribs from Kevin made him jump. 'What was that for?'

Kevin nodded in the direction of the teacher, and Connor's stomach muscles clenched as he raised his gaze to Lowsley's. 'Sir.'

Lowsley smirked. 'I see you're in a world of your own, Mulgrew,' he purred. 'Clearly you feel you have no need to learn about this poem; presumably you know it all already. Perhaps you'd like to give the rest of us the benefit of your expertise?'

Connor could only gape, his mind a frightened blank. Out of the corner of his eye, he realised Kevin was making a surreptitious slicing motion across his neck. It took a moment for it to click and he rushed to offer the first thing that occurred to him.

'Er…she died?'

'H'mm. That's the easy part,' Lowsley told him condescendingly, 'and if you'd been listening you'd be able to tell me more than that.' He tutted. 'What a shame. Inattention in Year 12 qualifies as insolence in my book. Cooler, _now_.'

'But, sir—' If he went to the cooler he'd have to wait for hours to know what was wrong with Imogen. 'Sir, I'm sorry, _please_—'

Lowsley put a hand to his collar and forcibly dragged him out of his chair. 'Are you mentally defective or just deaf, like that wife of yours?' he snarled in a whisper, and Connor went rigid. He twisted in the older man's grasp, determined not to be handled like this, but painfully aware that he could not appear to be violent. He was already on probation as it was. Once he almost got free, but Lowsley, heedless of the shocked looks on the faces of the other students, put a hand in the centre of Connor's back and shoved him towards the door with all his strength—straight into the Head's arms.

For a split second Connor clung to her, relieved beyond measure that she had appeared at that precise moment.

'Mum—Imogen—'

His mother had not looked at him, beyond the merest of glances. Her gaze was fixed on Lowsley, over his shoulder. 'Door, Connor.'

He opened his mouth to argue, but a quick look from her shut him up and he went to the door as he was bid. The desire to do something—to shout, to hit someone, to sweep forward and rescue Imogen—was overpowering, throbbing through his veins with such force that he felt sick with it. It took every ounce of strength he could muster to stand calmly to one side and let his mother sort it out.

She wasted no time. She crossed to the still-shaking Imogen and knelt beside her as Connor watched, praying that Imogen would respond—but she did not, and instead his mother turned to Mr Lowsley, her jaw clenched tight and her eyes flashing.

'Mr Lowsley, I'm going to have to remove Imogen from your lesson,' she informed the teacher icily. 'As you can see, she's too distressed to absorb anything and we can't have the others distracted.' She put an arm around Imogen's shoulders and helped her up, and Connor's heart clenched painfully. His wife looked so tiny and frail, especially next to his tall mother.

'Mum—'

Again that quick, almost dismissive glance. 'Yes, Connor, you're with me.' Before Lowsley could protest—and Connor, looking at the man, could see how much he longed to protest—she had ushered him out of the room ahead of herself and Imogen.

When Mr Clarkson's door closed behind them, Connor pulled his wife into his arms. 'What's wrong with her?'

His mother's gaze softened. 'Love, I'm going to need you to step away from her and run to the office—'

'What? No!'

'Connor, listen to me. Listen to me, son. It's important. You need to get Sally's number from Sonya and call her. It's urgent. Tell her Imogen's hit her head and it seems to have affected her hearing; ask if she wants to come here or whether we should call an ambulance—'

He could feel the blood draining from his head and tightened his hold on his wife, but his mother wouldn't let them go. She moved towards them, still talking.

'Come on, Connor. You need to do this, do you understand? It's the best thing you can do for her.'

Her gaze was insistent, compelling, and the tight little ball of fear inside his stomach began to unwind. He didn't need to carry this burden alone, he didn't need to work out how to fix it.

He gave a single jerky nod of his head and carefully stepped back, allowing his mother to take his place in supporting his wife.

'Go!' she urged, looking at him over Imogen's head. 'Don't waste time. Go!'

Adrenaline gushed through him and he was off.

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**12.30pm, Head's Office**

When Imogen emerged from her fog of terror it was to find herself seated on a grey leather sofa in the Head's office, her mother-in-law bending over her anxiously. Imogen did not need to remember what she was doing there; the silence told her, it wrapped around her, freezing her inside a prison of ice that cut her off from the world.

She shivered, glancing up at Christine, but the older woman was already shrugging out of her jacket and placing it around Imogen's shoulders. She made a thumbs-up sign and said something. Imogen thought it was 'Better?' and nodded. It was easier that way.

Christine smiled and sat beside her. 'Drink?' she suggested, making a drinking motion with a hand.

Imogen realised that even with the heavy jacket—Waterloo Road's central heating was inefficient at best—she was still shivering. 'Yes, please. Thanks.' The shivers intensified; she was accustomed to not being able to hear herself well, but she was used to hearing _something_. This nothingness was eerie; if it wasn't for the fact that she'd felt the vibrations in her throat she'd wonder if Christine was a genius lipreader—something Imogen herself had never been very good at. She'd never needed to be.

Until now.

What if this was _it_?

What if she never heard anything, ever again? Never heard Connor's low tones, Dynasty's brash Scouse, Kevin's eager staccato? What if she never heard _herself_ again? How could she have the confidence to speak, not knowing whether she was whispering or shouting—well, she supposed she'd know the difference between those two easily enough, they have a distinctive feel…

She pulled Christine's jacket more closely around her, but it couldn't touch the real source of the cold—the fear that lay deep inside. She could not even cry. Her eyes were so tearless that they stung.

Her mother-in-law came to sit beside her, wrapping Imogen's small hands around a monster mug. The heat helped, and Imogen raised the mug to her lips and welcomed the raw sensation of hot coffee stripping the delicate skin from the roof of her mouth and burning its way down her very centre.

When she had finished drinking, Christine touched her shoulder.

'Can you hear anything, anything at all?' She spoke carefully, but not over carefully, and Imogen could have hugged her for that. There's nothing so annoying to the deaf as the well-meaning hearing person who inadvertently insults with over-enunciation.

'I don't know. I can't hear you. I couldn't hear Dynasty, or that new teacher.' She noticed that Christine was leaning in; it made her nervous. 'Can you hear me? Am I speakin' too quietly?'

The shock on her mother-in-law's face spoke for itself, even before she said something like, 'You can't hear yourself, can you?'

Imogen shook her head, the absent tears suddenly making themselves very present. She clasped her hands over her mouth to repress the threatening volcano of sobs, and spoke through them. 'This is it, isn't it. I'm really deaf now, aren't I?' She looked at Christine. 'I'm going to have to leave Waterloo Road, I won't be able to go to uni, Connor won't want me—' The volcano erupted and she doubled over with sobs, only dimly aware of the fact that someone was holding her, someone was rocking her.

Gradually she realised that someone else had come, that it was no longer simply herself and Christine, and she lifted her head to look. To her other side was Connor, his blue eyes wide in his tense face; kneeling in front of her and Christine was her mother, and Imogen half-laughed and half-sobbed.

'Mum…!'

Her mother patted her on the knee, uncharacteristically soothing, before asking in Sign Supported English, 'Connor tells me you can't hear. Are you sure it's not the batteries?'

Imogen tried to control herself. 'I—I tried two wh—hole packs,' she said shakily, signing with one hand. 'It's not that it didn't work, it just wasn't _enough_…!'

'Let me see.'

Imogen reached into her pocket and extracted the battery packs together with the hearing aids. Her mother picked the aids up and flicked a finger; the slight wince and pained look on her face before she flicked them again told Imogen all she needed to know.

'They're working,' her mother said grimly, rising lithely to her feet. 'It must be the bump on the head. Come on, we'd better get you to hospital.'

Imogen's eyes went to Connor, and he reached out to take her hand. 'Do you want me to come?' he asked, gesturing between them and pointing at the door.

She tried a smile and wiped away the tears. 'Only if you're sure. _Really_ sure.' She wrinkled her nose at him, trying to be something of her normal self. 'Hospitals are boring.'

'I'm coming!' he insisted, and she stared at him before throwing her arms around his neck. At least _this_ had not changed, she thought as his arms went round her waist and pulled her nearer. He felt the same, smelt the same. She closed her eyes and drank him in, losing herself in the moment.

A touch on her shoulder returned her to reality. Christine was standing looking down on them, her straight hair falling forward away from her face.

Imogen's mother glanced at her. 'Tell me what you want to say.'

Christine looked startled but it quickly cleared, and Imogen's gaze flicked between her mother and her mother-in-law as the latter spoke.

'Go to hospital. Take all the time you need—and don't worry about your place here,' she said through Imogen's mother. 'We'll find a way, Imogen. That's a promise.'

Some of the soul-deadening dread within Imogen began to ease. She'd watched Christine go from barely competent human being to the best teacher in the school; she'd seen her transformed against the odds into a powerful and capable headmistress. If Christine said they'd find a way, she'd believe it.

She took a deep breath and nodded. 'OK, then. Let's do this.'

To her surprise, Christine pulled her into a hug before stepping back and taking her by the shoulders. 'You'll be fine, Imogen. You will.' Her face split in the grin that still seemed strange to her daughter-in-law. 'You're a Mulgrew now, right?'

Connor took Imogen's arm with a grin of his own. 'Just nod,' he mouthed or said—she did not know which, but at that moment she found she did not care, and she even managed to smile as she obediently nodded.

Her chin came up. She was still frightened, terrified of what the hospital would find, of how her life would change, but her fear had become manageable. She allowed Connor to draw her from the room as she repeated Christine's words in her mind. She was a Mulgrew now. Her head came up. Yeah, she was a Mulgrew. And like all the Mulgrews, she'd deal with whatever came.

* * *

_Sign Supported English: this does what it says on the tin. Unlike British Sign Language (BSL), SSE can be used in conjunction with speech. This doesn't work so well with BSL because BSL has its own grammatical structure which is NOT akin to English, even though it uses English vocab. Irish speaking friends tell me it's closer to that, however. Any other deafness related questions, fire away!_


	4. Episode 1-4

_Thanks for all the reviews! I haven't had time yet to reply personally, but I really do appreciate each and every one. I have to admit, this is the first time I've ever used my experiences with deafness in writing. I'm thrilled that it seems to strike a chord with people!_

**1.00pm, Sonya's office**

'Tom!'

Tom Clarkson struggled to call a smile for the Head's secretary as Sonya bustled towards him, hoping that she'd chatter in her usual fashion and allow him to remain inside his own mind. He was not disappointed; she began to tell him about Connor and Imogen and council papers and new deputies and all manner of things that washed right over him as she pushed him into a seat. He did not need much pushing.

Minutes passed. Sonya's chatter was starting to annoy him; he was approaching that state of exhaustion where only quiet will do. He could have cheered with relief when the Head's door opened and Connor and Imogen filed out, followed by Imogen's mum. The teenagers glanced at him without pausing, but Mrs Stewart paused on the threshold of the Head's door and turned back to speak to Christine, who'd followed her.

'Thanks for everything today. I'll keep you posted on how Imogen's doing.' There was a pause, and Mrs Stewart added uncomfortably, 'Mrs—er, Christine, I'm sorry for how I behaved over Connor. You were right. He is a good boy.'

Tom blinked in surprise; Sally seemed so _sensible_, contradicting the no-holds-barred account he'd received from Grantly and Maggie of Sally Stewart's exploits at Imogen's birthday party. All at once, his remembered amusement turned to ashes at the thought that never again would he hear gossip like that from Grantly, told as only he could tell it, complete with razor edge and malicious twinkle.

Dimly, he became aware that Mrs Stewart had gone, accompanied by Sonya for reasons known only to herself, and Tom found himself alone with Christine, the latter's hazel eyes focused intently on him.

As he was coming to expect, she went straight to the point. 'How is he?'

Tom leaned his elbows on his knees and pushed his fingers through his hair. 'Can we go in there?' he asked wearily, jerking his head towards her office door. 'I'd rather have some privacy.'

Christine's lips pressed thin, but she nodded and led him into her office, gesturing to the sofa. 'Coffee first, Tom? Looks like you need it.'

He sighed as he sank into the leather. 'Yeah. God, yeah. Coffee would be great, thanks.' He allowed his head to fall against the cool back of the sofa, his eyes drifting shut.

'Here,' Christine said softly, breaking into his near doze. 'Tom, wake up. Here's your coffee.' He opened his eyes blearily, and found her studying him carefully. 'It's not good, is it?'

He took the coffee with a forced smile and took a gulp. The bitterness tingled on his tongue, reviving him. 'Nope.' His throat tightened.

She pulled a chair over and sat in front of him. 'Is he—?'

'He's still alive,' he interrupted, unable to keep the bitterness from his tone. She looked puzzled and he hastened to explain. 'But not for long, Christine. Not for long.' His voice cracked. He hadn't realised until the past day and night how much he—well, _loved_—Grantly, old curmudgeon that he was.

'But the transplant—'

'Can't happen,' Tom responded laconically. 'They thought he was going to die, you know. Took him off the ventilator; Maggie, the kids and I said our goodbyes. And we waited, expecting that he'd shuffle off this mortal coil, to quote the great man himself—but no.' A strangled travesty of a laugh burst from him. 'Not Grantly. Instead of dying, he kept going. A—and then he woke up.' He had to pause to take a deep, steadying breath.

'Take your time,' Christine advised gently.

He nodded jerkily, remembering his own words to Grantly. _Christine's Head now. She'll be fine. She cares, you see_. 'He didn't know us. Or himself. Completely not _compos mentis._ They won't even consider proceeding unless he's in a fit mental state, and his heart and lungs are shot from the coma and kidney disease.' He reached to put the cup on a nearby table, his hand shaking. 'And in the meantime he's terrified and confused, tied to that bloody bed by his kidneys and heart and lungs and God knows what else—' His head fell forward. 'I wish he'd bloody died,' he said gruffly. 'You wouldn't keep a dog like this—'

'Don't tell me any more,' Christine interrupted, her own voice roughened, and he saw that her eyes were very bright. 'You're tired. Beyond tired. Go home. Rest, eat, shower, cry—whatever. Just take a bit of time for yourself. Then come back and we'll talk properly.'

A bell rang and she rose. 'Stay here for as long as you want. I'll tell Sonya to keep everyone out.'

Tom frowned, realising he was missing something. 'Where are you going?'

She surprised him by smiling. 'I'm going to take my Year 13s.'

_That_ roused him. 'You're teaching? Christine, you can't! There's more than enough here to keep you busy, now we're an authority school again.'

'I've no choice, Tom,' she told him mildly, fetching her teaching bag from behind the desk. 'Grantly's out of commission. Nikki's fully occupied with the PRU. You've been up to the eyes. I'm still Head of English until we get more staff. Anyway,' she added as she reached the door, 'I want to. Lessons are an oasis of sanity in an insane world right now. See you later!' and she was gone, leaving him alone.

**3.45pm, Crush Hall**

Christine walked briskly through the crush hall towards her office, her outward demeanour contrasting with the shrinking feeling inside. She was due to meet her new deputy head, and the purpose of the meeting—at least as far as she was concerned—was to deliver a reprimand. It was the first time she'd ever had to do such a thing, and she found herself quailing at the prospect. Being on the receiving end would be less intimidating, she thought wryly. She was used to _that_.

Her eye was caught by an unmistakable silhouette in front of a notice board and she crossed the hall to stand behind the girl.

'So, Dynasty, how much was left of my Year 7s by the time you finished with them?'

The young woman was so absorbed in studying the notices in front of her that she started violently and wheeled, glaring at her Headmistress. 'What'd you do that for, Miss? You nearly gave me an 'eart attack!'

Christine found herself smiling. Dynasty in full flow could always make her smile. She hooked a thumb under her bag strap and grinned as the Sixth former's annoyance visibly faded.

'Sorry, Miss. Didn't realise it was you.' She threw Christine a look that verged on the coquettish. 'Checkin' up on me, are yeh?'

Christine's only answer was a minuscule nod and a questioning look.

Dynasty tossed her head, a smile growing. 'They're _fine_, Miss. There wasn't a squeak out of 'em. I kept them at it the whole time. Mr Budgen would be right proud o' me, I tell yer.'

'Not just Mr Budgen,' Christine said through a stab of unexpected grief for the irascible old teacher.

Dynasty missed very little, even while she blushed at the compliment. 'You've 'eard 'ow 'e's doing?'

'You'll find out tomorrow,' Christine told her firmly before attempting a diversion with, 'What were you looking at?'

Dynasty gave her a look that was far too knowing. 'Whatever you say, Miss. And this…' She flicked a hand. 'Well, um, Iwaslookin'forsomefingaboutteaching,' she said in a rush.

Christine leaned forward and scanned the notices. 'Primary or secondary?'

Dynasty looked comically horrified. 'Oh, secondary, Miss. Seriously, can you see _me_ wiv all them little kids? With them snottin' and weein' all over yer? I'd spend the whole time runnin' to the loo to patch up!'

'There is that,' Christine allowed. Her eye was caught by the sight of Kevin just outside of the doors; when he saw her looking, he began to mime a pining lover and her lips twitched. She nodded towards him. 'I think someone's waiting for you. I'll get you some leaflets on teacher training, OK? In the meantime think about which subject you'd be interested in teaching.'

Dynasty beamed. 'Thanks, Miss. You're turnin' into an amazing Head, d'ye know?'

'After two days,' Christine commented drily. 'But thanks.'

'No thanks needed. You deserve it, Miss. You were awful good to me when… well, you know when.' The girl faltered and her eyes took on a bruised look that Christine knew too well; she'd seen it in her mirror every day for nearly eighteen years.

She could not bear it. She dumped her bag on the floor and took the young woman into a hug. 'Keep fighting, Dyn,' she murmured into the girl's ear, unconsciously using the affectionate diminutive she'd heard her son and Imogen use. 'I know how hard it is, but you're strong, aren't you. Like steel, Lancashire steel that bends but doesn't break.' She pulled back and looked gravely at the younger woman. 'I'm always here; I mean that. Not just at school.'

Dynasty's eyes overflowed, causing her mascara to streak, and she rubbed them fiercely. 'I know, Miss.' She sniffled loudly. 'I—I've got to go.'

'Hmm'mm. Go on!' Christine made a shooing motion and watched anxiously as the girl disappeared through the glass doors; even the effervescent hair seemed subdued. Kevin, good lad that he was, responded immediately. He put his arm around his girlfriend's shoulders and ushered her down the steps with a final nod to Christine.

The Head sighed. She was still worried about Dynasty, but the girl was better off than _she_ had been all those years ago, surrounded as she was by fiercely loyal family and friends. Dynasty would not turn to the deceptive crutch of addiction—she would make damn well sure of it.

**4.00pm, Head's Office**

'Good afternoon, Simon,' Christine greeted when her deputy entered. She did not rise to meet him, choosing to stay planted in the chair behind the big desk. 'Sit down.'

'I'd rather stand,' was the cool response.

'Suit yourself.' She willed herself not to fidget, not to chew her lip or betray any other sign of nervousness. 'I've called you hear to discuss what happened this morning in the lesson you were covering for Tom Clarkson. Was there any particular reason why you hadn't already sent Imogen to the office? It was perfectly obvious the girl was distraught!'

He shrugged. 'She's a sixth former. She needs to focus on her work first of all, not her own petty concerns.'

Christine sat back, eyebrows disappearing behind her fringe. 'Petty concerns?! Simon, the girl's hearing had just nosedived! No-one could expect her to focus under those circumstances, even supposing she was able to!'

His eyes narrowed. 'Perhaps I would have paid more attention if your precious son hadn't decided to kick off—'

'So I should hope!' Christine interrupted hotly. She took a deep breath and forced herself to say calmly, 'Look, those kids have been through a good deal over the past year. They're very close. Cut them some slack, can't you? Otherwise perhaps you should start looking for a school in one of those leafy suburbs after all.'

'You'd like that, wouldn't you?' Simon sneered.

She dismissed that with a quick movement of her eyes. 'It doesn't matter what I would like. The point is your behaviour was unprofessional and inappropriate and it _will not_ be tolerated. Do you understand me?'

She was discomfited when he laughed, his stiff posture relaxing. He leaned forward, resting his forearms along the top of the chair that sat facing hers.

'Actually, Christine, I think it's _you_ who doesn't understand. You have no say over my placement here, don't you see that?'

'I'm Head,' she told him with as much of a smile as she could muster. 'Michael recommended me. The council approved it.'

He chuckled, his eyes twinkling, and her heart began to pound uncomfortably. He was going to tell her something she didn't want to hear, she was sure of it.

'Michael. Ah yes. I've heard things about you and him, Mrs Mulgrew, and then there's the stuff Michael himself told me about you.'

'Yes?' Her mouth had gone dry.

'As I told you, my placement here was part of Michael's exit deal. He believed you could be a good Head—but only as long as you stay sober. He told me this in confidence, you see. Chivalrous fool didn't want to dirty your copybook with the council.' His tone was turning from lighthearted to scornful. 'He still cares about this place, and apparently when you're in the grip of the demon drink you're… let me see, how did he put it? Oh, I've got it. You're vicious, spiteful, capricious. You show poor judgement. You can't be trusted. Not someone to lead a school, wouldn't you agree?'

'No,' Christine agreed hoarsely, the fragile walls of her hard-won confidence shattering. How could Michael say those things, how _could_ he? He hadn't lied when he said he didn't love her…

'And then there's that son of yours,' Simon continued conversationally. 'Known to the police, isn't he? Convicted arsonist, on probation…Tut, tut. Doesn't sound good at all, does it?'

Somehow she managed to lift her chin and meet his gaze. 'None of this is a secret. You can't blackmail me with it. The rest of the staff, the parents, even the kids … they already know this.'

'There's knowing and knowing, my dear Christine. Michael told me he did his best to keep the whole thing as low key as possible, for your sake and Connor's. I'm not sure the good people on the council _do_ know—but let me assure you, _I_ have no qualms about telling them if you put so much as your little toe out of line, do you get me?'

'Yes,' she whispered, wishing she could still the tremors that were vibrating up her legs, reminding her unpleasantly of the hell of withdrawal.

'And just to make it crystal clear, if I even suspect you've been at the bottle I'll take pleasure not only in getting rid of you, but your son too. Think of it. You might play fast and loose with your own career—you've had plenty of practice, from all accounts—but are you _really_ prepared to gamble with your son's future?'

'No.' Christine hated herself for agreeing, but he was right, damn him. Connor had suffered enough because of her. She would not do anything—anything at all—that could jeopardise his future, especially not now when everything was going so well.

Simon smiled, slowly. 'Excellent. I think we've reached an understanding, Mrs Mulgrew. You might be Head—but I'm the one who pulls the strings!'

**NEXT TIME: **

**As Waterloo Road comes to terms with grief deferred, Christine struggles to find holes in the net Simon is weaving around her. Imogen's worsened hearing makes itself felt in and out of the classroom, and Dynasty's road to recovery is jettisoned by an ominous warning…**

**OVER TO YOU**

OK folks, that's episode one done. Now's your chance to tell me what you think of this format. Is it too slow? Too fractured? Would you prefer shorter, pacier pieces? Ideas for plots? I have a number of ideas as it is, but there's another nine episodes to go. I'm also thinking of setting up a twitter feed if anyone likes the idea?


	5. Episode 2-1

I'm so glad everyone is enjoying this so far, and thanks _so much_ for all the reviews. It really does spur my creativity, so keep 'em coming—especially now that we've no WR on our screens for a bit. Anyone know when the new autumn term/S9 is due to start? Anyway, let episode two begin...

* * *

**7.00am, Mulgrew Home**

Connor eyed his mother furtively as she poured herself a cup of coffee, her movements languid. Her hair hung in unkempt strands about her face, her dressing gown was loosely tied, and she looked haggard and old. He had not seen her like this since… well, since before the fire, before she stopped drinking.

The realisation turned his blood to ice. Was she drinking again? He couldn't blame her if she was. The past months would be enough to drive anyone to drink. Dynasty's rape. Michael leaving. Michael dumping the Headship. Mr Budgen's ill health. His own marriage. The deterioration in Imogen's hearing… the list just went on and on. And always, lurking in the background, was the knowledge of his mother's past, the truth that lay behind his own existence.

No. He could not blame her if she resorted to drink. That didn't mean he had to like it.

She must have felt his eyes on her. 'What are you staring at?'

He winced. It wasn't quite the old hostile tone, but it was close. 'Nothing, Mum.' He tried a smile. 'I'm just worried about you. You look tired.'

She slammed her cup down on the worktop with such force that the coffee spilled over. 'No, son. No more secrets, remember? Admit it, you're wondering if I'm drinking again.'

'I—'

'I don't know why I bother,' his mother continued bitterly, riding roughshod over his half-hearted protests. 'I put myself through hell, and for what? Everyone still looks at me suspiciously anyway, waiting for me to fall off the wagon. Then they'll all nod and make self-righteous comments about how there's no such thing as a recovered alcoholic. Am I not allowed to be human, Connor? Can't I have an off-day like anyone else without you thinking the worst?'

To his horror, he realised that she was genuinely upset, her eyes filling with tears. He jumped off his stool and went to take her by the shoulders.

She was still talking.

'I'm a single mum. I know you think you're all grown up, but I'm still your mum. I worry. And then there's the school—'

'Mum!' he interrupted, giving her a little shake. 'Calm down. I believe you. I do.'

'I—You do?'

He pulled her into a hug, realising with a pang that he was taller than she was. ''Course I do,' he muttered gruffly into her ear. 'I've seen how hard you've worked. I'm so proud of you.'

'Are you?'

The wistfulness in that question frightened him. He pulled back to look into her eyes. 'Mum, I believe you. I do,' he said again, 'but you said it yourself. No more lies. I know there's something bothering you. What's wrong?'

For a moment he thought she would tell him, the words seemed to tremble visibly on her lips. Instead, she took a deep breath, stiffening herself, and reached up with one hand to give him a maternal pat on the cheek.

'You need to stop worrying about me, you know,' she told him lightly. 'Worrying is my job.' She looked past his shoulder in the direction of the kitchen clock. 'Shit, look at time. I'd better run!' She kissed him on the cheek and brushed past Imogen at the door in her hurry to escape.

Connor gave his wife an absent smile when she came to give him his morning kiss, but for once his attention was not on her. His mother rarely swore, except when she was drunk—and rarely then. He'd heard her say swearing was a form of laziness, a linguistic cop-out.

'Is there something wrong?'

He gave a muffled laugh at the irony. 'Not with me.'

Imogen's dark brows rose. 'With—?' She gave a meaningful jerk of the head.

He nodded.

'D'you think she's at the drink again?'

Suddenly, he was furious. 'Don't _you_ start judging her!' he hissed, the words tumbling out faster than he could frame them. 'Don't you dare! You don't know the half of it, you don't know what she's been through, it's enough to make anyone drink, d'you hear?'

Imogen stumbled back from him, her eyes wide with shock. 'Connor—'

The hurt note in her voice penetrated, and he gave a groan. 'I'm sorry. I'm so sorry. I didn't mean it.'

'C'm'ere,' Imogen coaxed, drawing him to sit at the breakfast table. 'Tell me.'

He buried his face in his hands. 'I can't,' he muttered, forgetting she wouldn't be able to lipread him with his mouth hidden. 'I can't.'

'What? Connor, I can't hear, remember?'

Exasperation bubbled through him, threatening to explode. It was so difficult having to be patient with this new Imogen, to remember that quick comments she'd once caught more or less easily now often had to be explained, killing witticisms and off the cuff remarks stone dead. It killed the _fun_.

_But it's not her fault_, he reminded himself. Sometimes it felt as though he did nothing but excuse the women he loved to his own internal judge.

Once again he managed a forced smile. 'I'll tell you later,' he lied. 'Come on, we'd better run; we'll be late!'

Her sceptical expression as he gulped down the rest of his tea told him all he needed to know. Clearly he was losing his touch.

* * *

**8.15am, Staff Room**

'—Imogen Mulgrew will be rejoining us this morning,' Christine announced. 'She's equipped with new hearing aids and she's spent the past week adjusting to them, so—'

'We'll be treating her exactly the same as always,' Simon Lowsley interrupted. 'No need to make special allowances, people. She needs to succeed or fail on her own merits. Can't let her use her disability as a crutch, can we?' He chuckled.

The rest of the staff exchanged looks when Christine, looking acutely uncomfortable, said: 'Quite. However, _do_ be alert to her needs. We'll see how she gets on and we can review arrangements once Imogen herself has a better idea of what she requires from us. We've also got Rhiannon Salt and Harley Taylor back with us this morning. Those kids are—to all intents and purposes—grieving, so treat them with kid gloves—'

'Without showing favouritism,' Simon interjected with a smirk. 'They're not the only children in the school with problems, Christine.'

The staff drew in a concerted breath at his note of condescension, but Christine did not appear to acknowledge it. She inclined her head slightly.

'Yes, you're right, of course,' she said quietly. 'I think that's all for now. Any comments?'

'Yeah, I'd like to say something, if I may, Christine.' Tom was careful to speak solely to the Head without even glancing in his fellow deputy's direction, and he received his reward in the grateful look she sent him. 'If anyone has any trouble or worries with the School House kids, point 'em to my office, OK? I'll handle it.'

'Christine, has there been any news on the Barry front?' Nikki called over the murmur of assent that came in response to Tom's statement.

The other woman shook her head. 'Not as far as I know. Why?'

The former deputy head looked anxious. 'It's probably nothing, but I asked the PRU kids to write me a creative piece. _Not_ Kacey's strength,' she added with a grimace, 'and I fully expected to get another of her football tales—but not this time.'

'What did she give you?' Audrey asked curiously.

'She told me it was based on some nightmares she's been having. About Steve-O getting loose and hurting her. If so, she's got a better imagination than I gave her credit for. Some of the things she came out with turned even _my_ stomach.'

'Poor child,' Audrey murmured. 'We must look out for her.'

Christine turned, her expression unreadable. 'We must look out for _all_ of them, Audrey,' she said tightly before giving them a nod and strained smile and disappearing through the connecting door that lead to the offices.

Once again the staff exchanged glances, but it was not until Simon had vanished in his turn that anyone ventured to speak.

'H'mm. It seems to me that our beloved leader is not entirely in control of the rabble.' Thus George Windsor, looking down his long nose.

'Speak for yourself!' Audrey retorted as she put away her inevitable knitting. 'We're sticking with her, for I'm having nothing to do with that Lowsley chap. I don't like him. I heard how he treated Connor and Imogen Mulgrew last week. Callous, he was. Absolutely callous. I can't think why Christine allowed it to pass.'

'How do you know she did?' George asked, one sardonic eyebrow lifting as the others began in move in preparation for the sounding of the registration bell. 'I may not know this abode of sin as well as your good self, Madam, but I do know my old drinking buddy. Her heart's always been in the right place—when her head hasn't been stationed over the loo—and she's besotted with that son of hers.'

Audrey, bag in hand, stopped and stared at him. 'Do you know, I think you've hit the nail on the head.'

'But of course,' George agreed complacently. 'It's a talent of mine, all unwitting. How, pray tell, have I done so on this occasion?'

Audrey gave him a very slow smile. 'Oh, George. Do you really think I'd make it that easy? Work it out for yourself, my friend. Work it out.'

And with a final twinkle she was gone.

* * *

**10.00am, Mrs Mulgrew's classroom**

Imogen was fiddling with her hearing aids while pretending to listen to Mrs Mulgrew's lecture on _Hamlet's_ most famous soliloquy. It had become a common occupation for her over the past week; the new digital aids her mother had bought for her were supposed to be all-singing all-dancing wonders of technology, but they sounded so different from the old ones. Some sounds were too loud, others too … muffled. And she no longer had control over the volume. Sometimes that really got to her; it'd been _nice_ being able to control how loudly she had to endure her mother's music, but with these new aids there were only two options: on or off. Deaf or sort-of hearing. It was as simple as that.

It was the only thing that was. Take this lesson, for example. Before, she'd been able to sit happily halfway down the classroom. True, sometimes she'd missed things here and there, but never enough to matter. Now, though, she was struggling. She'd never noticed how much her teachers liked to wander! And if _Christine_ had forgotten the need to stay still for Imogen, what hope was there of anyone else remembering?

She slid down in her seat and tried to concentrate on her mother-in-law, staring so hard that her eyes burned and fuzzed, as though she was blowing circuits in her brain.

'—Hamlet was a teenager,' Mrs Mulgrew was saying. 'Think of this soliloquy as a piece of teenage angst. I'm serious!' she ended with a half-laugh.

Someone said something. The whole class laughed, racously. Imogen glanced at Dynasty out of the corner of her eye and found her smirking in that knowing way that was so characteristically hers.

Christine grinned. 'All right then. I'll prove it to you. I'm going to set you a challenge. Take this soliloquy and write it in modern idiom—what was that, Kevin?'

Imogen tried to twist to see Kevin, but by the time she'd found him he'd finished speaking and her mother-in-law was looking amused.

'Absolutely not!' The class—apart from Imogen— groaned, and she smirked and lifted a forefinger. 'Fine. Fine. But there's a condition—you'll need to give me a glossary. Connor can tell you that my text-speak is beyond terrible. However, if you _want_ to give yourselves so much extra work—'

This time Imogen could join in the general laugh and it soothed the sore places inside, soothed the rawness that came from being on the outside looking in, of being the eternal skeleton at the feast.

'You can start now and finish for homework,' Mrs Mulgrew informed them as she returned to her desk amidst the sound of dragging bags and rustling papers, of pens being knocked off desks and muttering pupils.

These things Imogen could hear, and she used them as a cover to lean forward and murmur in Dynasty's ear, 'Could I copy your notes later?'

'Me? Notes? I don't need 'em, sweetheart,' her friend answered as she flipped to a blank page in her file block. 'Photographic memory, me. It's all up 'ere.' She tapped her temple.

Imogen blinked in confusion. 'But that's visual!'

Dynasty shrugged, a smile tugging at the corner of her mouth. All at once the smile vanished, and Imogen could feel the tension radiating from her.

'Dyn?'

The other girl had paled under her makeup. Imogen watched as Dynasty, with one eye on their teacher, extracted her phone from her pocket and placed it delicately on her desk, as though expecting it to explode. The familiar indigo box showed on the lock screen, indicating a new message.

Imogen indicated it with her head. 'Aren't you gonna read it?'

'I think I know what it is,' Dynasty whispered. 'It's the third one this morning, Im. I don't know what I'm gonna do!'

'What's wrong with it?'

Dynasty turned frightened blue eyes to her. 'I think I'm bein' stalked. By one of Steve-O's mates. Look.' She swiped and flicked into Messages and pushed the phone towards Imogen. 'Look 'ere, just don't let Mrs Mulgrew see, _please_.'

Imogen looked at the row of white bubbles. The first was simple: _I'm watchin U_. The second said, _Lookin good, babe_. The third was the most frightening. It said, _What R U doin next 2 dat deafo freak? BTW luv better not b wearin dat bra 4 kev or else_.

Imogen looked up, shocked and sickened. Dynasty was twirling a pen idly in one hand as she stared blindly at her empty page, her eyes glassy with tears.

'You can't keep quiet about this,' Imogen hissed as she surreptitiously slid the phone back into her friend's bag. 'You need to tell someone! That's—' Her voice failed her as the full implications of that last message registered in her mind.

'I _can't_,' Dynasty protested softly. 'It's not safe. This is because I grassed. Who knows what'll happen if I do it again?'

Imogen shook her head. 'Don't you see? Whoever's sendin' this is connected to someone _here_, Dyn. Someone in this very room!'

* * *

TBC, of course!


	6. Episode 2-2

_Sorry to be so late updating. I live in Belfast and at this time of the year—ie, the riotfest known as 'the Twelfth'—I prefer to get out of town. Literally. So I decamped to my parents, meaning less writing time. And then I got hit by a nasty bug which meant crazy things happened when I tried to look at any screen but a TV screen. Thus, delay._

_Reviewers, thank you muchly. Guests, it'd be lovely to know who you are! Shoutouts must go to __**Allykat**__ and __**Violet**__. __**Violet**__, I took your advice, as you see, although the part this character will play will be built up as time goes on, and remain closely tied to the Mulgrew-Barry dynamic. _

_Anyone worried about Tom's fate here—don't. At this point in time I have no intention of killing him off! 'Course, that might change… After all, there's got to be a finale to this 'season' and it wouldn't be Waterloo Road without chaos and destruction!_

_In the meantime, enjoy!_

**11.00am, Mr Clarkson's room**

'All right, Year 12, that's enough!' Tom called across his classroom when the class he was covering (_covering!_) for Grantly seemed unwilling to settle down. 'Jack McAllister, if you do what I think you're about to do with that, you can take yourself to the cooler. I'm not in the mood.'

Perhaps startled by his tone, the pupils sorted themselves out with only a minimum of fuss. Tom blinked at his copy of Alan Bennett's _Talking Heads_ and tried to convince his own poor muddled head that he remembered the monologues well enough to teach them. The class shuffled expectantly, and he realised that they were waiting.

He sighed and ran a hand over his rapidly greying hair. 'Which one are you on?' he asked with a wave of the thin text.

'_Lady of Letters_, sir,' Kevin piped up from the front row. Grantly had declared that he refused to spend another lesson listening to the torrid whisperings of this group when they dispersed themselves as they saw fit, and had accordingly instituted seating plans. Thus Kevin, who Tom knew preferred to sit with either Dynasty or Connor, found himself allied with a girl whose name Tom could not even remember.

Guilt stabbed him. He should know who the girl was. _Grantly_ would have known, if only so that he could make full use of every syllable the unfortunate teenager possessed during his rants. He drew the register towards him and flipped it open.

'OK, you lot. Open up and let's hear you read it aloud. Who wants to start?'

Tom was surprised when Imogen Stew—_Mulgrew_, he reminded himself—raised her hand, but he nodded for her to continue. Imogen read well, and while the class was busy he could do the admin. He ticked his way quickly down the columns, noting with relief the one name he hadn't instantly recognised—Jas Maguire, of course, he always forgot about her—and stopped Imogen with a wave. 'Thanks, Imogen. Who's next?'

A moment's pause, and then a small flurry of raised hands. All the usual suspects, Tom noted, which wasn't what he wanted. He focused on the girl next to Kevin in the front row.

'Jas, would you like to continue?' She looked like a model student, her curly head bent conscientiously over her book, but she failed to respond to his command. Tom's patience, already strained, began to slip. 'Jasmine!'

Kevin nudged her and she jumped, her mobile slipping to the floor with a crash.

'Another present for Sonya,' Tom observed tightly as he went to stand before their desks. 'Give it here. You know the rule.'

To his surprise, the girl he couldn't remember did not obey. She clutched her phone to her and shook her head.

'Come on,' Tom urged, trying to keep his voice level. Jas refused to look at him. 'Look, is there something going on here?' he demanded, glancing from the girl before him to the class at large. 'This is the third illegal phone I've found so far today. Anyone else have contraband they'd like to volunteer?' He couldn't keep the sarcastic edge from his voice, and was unsurprised when no-one took him up on his offer. He did, however, notice the quick look that passed between Dynasty Barry and Imogen Mulgrew.

'Perhaps it was the news about Mr Budgen, sir,' Kevin put in chirpily, causing Tom to glance at him in surprise. As far as he knew the SMT had decided to keep the full truth of Grantly's condition to the staff for now, although with the expectation that it would leak to some degree from the School House kids. 'Word is he's woken up. Maybe Jas thought he'd be in today and she could snap him. Use him as an illustration for the return of the living dead!' Kevin waggled his hands at shoulder height, his eyes going wide and zombie-like, and the class laughed.

Tom's temper finally went. He slammed his fist down on Kevin's desk and forced himself to speak softly. 'There's a world of difference between truth and rumour, Mr Chalk, as you're going to learn before you're much older. Cooler, now. And take her with you!' he added, jabbing his thumb in Jas's direction.

'But—' Kevin tried, some of the colour leaving his face.

'_Now_!' Tom bellowed. 'There's a time and a place for your jokes, Kevin, and this is _not_ it. Go!'

The class went dead quiet. Kevin hustled himself and Jas out of the room with as little noise as they could manage, and closed the door gently behind them. Once they'd gone, Tom turned to the rest of the group. 'Dynasty, take up where Imogen finished,' he ordered tiredly as he dropped into his seat. 'She'll help you find your place.'

Dynasty bounced up, her eyes sparking. 'Why'd you have a go at 'im like that, sir? Kev's been at mine the last week, and anyway, he was only kiddin' 'cos we're all so pleased that Mr Budgen's woke up—'

Tom rubbed his eyes. 'Is that what you've been told?'

Blue eyes shot daggers at him across the classroom. 'Are you callin' our Kace a liar?'

'Calm down, I'm doing nothing of the sort. Where did _Kacey_ hear it?'

Dynasty gave an elegant shrug of her leather clad shoulders, her aggressive stance softening. 'Dunno, sir. Harley or Lula, probably. That's where she hears most things, like.'

Tom looked at the Head's son. 'Your mum hasn't said anything?'

'She wouldn't,' Connor answered simply. 'I—well, I have my own ideas, but…' He glanced towards Imogen, and Tom understood. The boy had enough worries without taking on his mother's as well.

'Bloody hell,' Tom murmured. The class watched him, eyes busy in still faces. 'OK, fine. Listen up, you lot. I'll tell you this much. Mr Budgen … hasn't woken up, not properly, not in the way Kacey thought. I, I can't say anymore right now.' He had to stop to clear his throat. 'Dynasty, continue please.'

This time, she obeyed.

**11.50, Head's Office**

Tom rapped lightly on the Head's door before entering; a quick glance through the window had told him that no-one was within apart from Christine and Simon, so he felt safe in doing so.

'Apologies for the interruption, Christine, I think it's time to make an announcement about Grantly,' he began, shutting the door behind him. 'Rumours of all sorts are swirling, and I've just thrown Kevin Chalk into the cooler for inappropriate humour—although in retrospect I think I was being oversensitive,' he added ruefully. 'But the fact remains that the kids haven't been told anything concrete, and I think it's time they knew.'

Christine gave him a strained smile. 'Hmm. I was talking to Maggie earlier and she said the same thing. What do you think, whole school or during registration? There's assembly tomorrow. I could—'

'Oh, I think registration would be just fine,' Simon interrupted. 'The kids have to learn to take experiences like this in their stride. If we don't make a fuss, neither will they.'

Tom had a refrain from cleaning his ears out. 'Er—what, so you think that it's OK to teach them that the impending death of someone they all know, they all care for, is … what, _nothing_? A minor detail that's dropped in between homework reminders and scoldings for being out of uniform?'

'Tom, I understand that you and Grantly are colleagues of long standing,' Simon began, so condescendingly that Tom wondered what Christine would do if he punched the man in the face, right here and right now. 'However, it's a mistake to think that the kids will care as much as you do—'

'With all respect, mate, you're new here,' Tom interjected, unwilling to listen to another moment of the other man's pontificating. 'How do you know what our kids care about?' He turned his gaze to the Head. 'Christine?'

She seemed anxious and on edge, glancing from him to Simon and back, unwilling to provide an opinion one way or another, unwilling even to meet his gaze fully.

Suspicion nibbled at the edges of Tom's mind and altered his tone when he spoke. 'Forget it. Registration it is.' He stalked to the door, wrenched it open, and twisted to look at the Head over his shoulder.

'Funny. I thought that with Michael and Lorraine gone, Waterloo Road would finally have a Head who could stand on his or her own feet. Big mistake!' He slammed the door shut, ignoring Sonya's exclamations, and marched into the staffroom.

**Noon, Staff Room**

Audrey was enjoying a peaceful free, sipping her tea and catching up with Year 11's latest attempts at GCSE coursework. She tutted when she saw that Lula Tsibi had, as usual, got carried away with the force of her own rhetoric and forgotten minor details like evidence. There was only one response to _that_: a series of giant exclamation marks down the margins together with a plaintive comment. It would be a good, solid piece of work if only the girl—

A door slammed, and she jumped, her fingers clutching involuntarily around the smooth sides of her fountain pen and sputtering tiny blobs of ink over Lula's sheets. Annoyance made her glare at the perpetrator, now leaning over the sink.

'I'll let Lula know that you're responsible for the shower of green spots over her GCSE coursework, shall I?' she suggested tartly to Tom Clarkson's back. 'I'm sure she'll be very grateful. Lula does enjoy little touches of individual—Tom?' Her tone changed as she noted the stiffness of the man's posture. She put the coursework aside and went to lay a gentle hand on his shoulder. 'Tom?'

'I'm _fine_,' he snapped, and Audrey recoiled as she always did in the face of harshness. Some of the anger in Tom's face faded. 'Audrey, I'm sorry. Just give me a minute, yeah?'

'I'll make you a nice cup of tea,' Audrey told him with a forgiving pat. 'And then you can tell me what's worrying you. Really, Tom, storming in like that isn't at all like you!'

She turned to boil the kettle and prepare the cups, her mind racing as she tried to anticipate what had annoyed the usually easygoing Deputy Head. Even so, she wasn't prepared for Tom to to ask, bluntly, 'D'you think Christine's drinking again?'

She dropped the spoon into the cup, metal hitting porcelain with a high ring as she turned. 'What?'

Tom was facing her, his hands resting against the edge of the worktop and his expression grave. 'Seriously. This past week she's been all over the place, and I don't like how she's allowing Simon to butt in whenever it takes his fancy.'

Audrey's lips thinned. 'No. I don't like it either, but… oh, Tom, I hate to think she's returned to the bottle! And when she was doing so well!'

'The Barry affair might've been just a flash in the pan,' Tom said heavily. 'A response to a nasty situation. Alkie or not, she _does_ care and she seems to take a particular interest in the Barrys.'

'Yes. Michael did too, though, and Nikki,' Audrey reminded him. Her brow wrinkled. 'Let's not jump to conclusions, please.' She nibbled her lip. 'Could we ask Connor?'

'Would he tell us? He lied for her before.'

Audrey sighed. 'Yes, he did, didn't he. Imogen?' The kettle whistled its readiness, and she twisted to finish the tea. 'As I remember, Imogen was the one who insisted that they tell the truth about the fire,' she reminded Tom as she hand him his drink. 'She might be our best bet.'

'Yeah.' Tom stared into the depths of his cup. 'One thing's for sure. We can't let it ride.'

'No,' Audrey agreed sadly. 'If Christine _is_ drinking again, we certainly cannot.'

**12.45pm, Mrs Mulgrew's classroom**

'OK, Connor. Spill.'

Connor had been seated in his mother's chair in her classroom, staring broodingly at the empty desk before him when his wife spoke. He looked up, startled.

'What?'

She approached the desk, dumping her bag, and perched on a corner. 'You've been moody all day. Tell me. Please. That's what married people do, remember?'

'Do they?' Connor asked bitterly. 'I wouldn't know.'

'Hey, snap out of it!' Imogen urged, 'My parents aren't an advert for married bliss either, you know. We'll need to learn as we go, and that means communicatin.' So tell me, what's worrying you?'

He gave her a lopsided grin. 'The usual. Mum.'

'She's a big girl, Connor. She can look after herself. If she couldn't, they wouldn't have made her Head, would they?'

'But the strain's getting to her,' Connor answered, his voice turning harsh. 'You can see it. She looks like she used to…' He covered his face with his hands, pushing his fingers into his hair. 'I can't bear to see her like that, Imogen. Not again. Not now that I know—'

Imogen pulled his hands from his face. 'Know what?'

He stared into her face, taking in the wide, concerned eyes. This was the one secret he'd kept from her, the one thing he could never bear to share. She'd still love him, wouldn't she, once she knew the truth?

'Go on,' Imogen said softly. 'Whatever it is, I'm not going anywhere. I love you, you great bampot.'

He swallowed and nodded. He had to trust in her and her love; at bottom, it was the only thing he _did_ trust. 'I know why Mum drank,' he began miserably. 'It was because of me, sort of. And all this stuff with Dynasty can't be helping—'

'What? You're not making sense! What's Dynasty got to do with it?'

Connor inhaled deeply, exhaling the words with his breath. 'Mum was raped too. The guy who did it, that was my father. It wasn't Joe, it was his dad, her father-in-law. He raped her—'

'_What_?' someone said behind them, high and panicked. It was followed almost at once by a deeper voice saying, 'O-ho, so old Mulgrew's always had trouble with her men, has she? Wait 'til _this_ gets out!'

Connor and Imogen could only stare in stunned shock as Dynasty Barry turned and put her ring-laden fist straight between her brother's eyes. While he reeled from that, she drove her knee into his groin, yelling at him all the while. The classroom door was open and they were rapidly gathering a crowd of interested spectators, several of whom would undoubtedly have heard something of what had passed.

Connor turned panicked eyes to his wife. 'Shit.'

'Yeah,' Imogen said matter of factly, slipping off the desk and going towards Dynasty. 'It's hit the fan this time, and no mistake. You'd better go get your mum.'

He hesitated, frozen at the thought. It had been hard enough talking to her about it that one time…

Imogen impaled him with her gaze. 'Connor! Move it!'

He went.


	7. Episode 2-3

_Thanks to Guest-whoever-you-are and Allykat for your reviews! They've heartened me to continue. For everyone else, I'm sorry that last chapter was relatively boring and fillerish, but hopefully this one will make up for it!_

* * *

**1.00pm, Head's Office**

Simon left, allowing the door the close shut behind him, and once she'd seen him disappear through the outer office door Christine permitted herself to relax, stretching out to relieve muscles twisted and kinked from tension. Her head fell back against the chair, and her eyes dropped shut.

'Mrs Mulgrew? Christine?'

Wearily, Christine opened her eyes and forced a smile at the sight of her secretary peeking tentatively around her door. 'Sonya. What can I do for you?'

The younger woman bustled in and settled herself into a chair facing Christine. 'I think it's more what I can do for you,' she said seriously. 'You look all wrung out, Mrs Mulgrew. They're all talking about it in there'—she nodded her head in the direction of the staff room—'and you know what they're like. Is there anything I can do?'

Christine managed a half-laugh. 'Get me Nikki Boston back as deputy? Funny, never thought I'd regret not having her. We never got on, before. But _Simon_—!' She clamped her mouth shut, unwilling to reveal too much.

Sonya looked knowing. 'He's a bit of a pill, that'un, ain't he? He treats me like dirt too, you know. It makes me wish Lorraine'd come back for the day. Put 'im in his place, she would!'

Christine glanced at her. 'I'd put him in his place myself, if I dared. But I can't. He's got me over a barrel, he's using Connor to keep me quiet. I won't have Connor suffer for me, Sonya. I won't.'

Sonya leaned over to give her a comforting pat on the arm. ''Course you won't. What mum would? And you're lovely, you are, no matter what they says. Want a drop o' rosie?'

The change of tack startled Christine, and it took a moment for her brain to translate. 'Yes, thanks. That'd be lovely.'

While Sonya clattered around with the kettle Christine moved to the window, staring sightlessly out at the car park. So the staff were gossiping about her! Well, she couldn't pretend she was surprised. She'd done her fair share of gossiping herself, once upon a time. She quailed at the thought of the conclusions they might be drawing, conclusions that even Connor had seemed to draw that morning. She drew closer to the window, focusing on what she could see of her reflection. 'Tired', Connor had said. That was him being tactful, she could see. She'd aged ten years in as many days, the lines around her eyes deeper than they were only two weeks ago. No wonder he was worried. She must find a way to reassure him…

And then Connor himself was there, having erupted past a sputtering Sonya, pulling at her arm and apologising and begging her to come all at once. For a moment Christine wondered if she'd lost her mind, if her own anxiety had conjured her son before her.

Then the import of his words sank in.

'I told Imogen, Mum, I should've waited 'til later but I didn't, I told her now and then the Barrys walked in and now they're having a free fight and everyone knows and I'm so _sorry_ and please don't hate me—'

'Connor. Connor!' It was almost a yell, and her son stopped abruptly, his pupils dilating. She pointed to the chair. 'Sit. Explain. _Calmly_,' she added quickly, not wanting to precipitate another round of incoherent semi-hysterical volubility.

What came next was almost worse.

'I told Imogen about the rape and everyone heard.' The words were blunt, falling like blows. 'It'll probably be round the whole school by now.'

Panic rose within Christine, choking her at the thought of everyone knowing this, her last, most jealously guarded secret. All at once she could see how it would be: the watching silences, the guarded glances, the unspoken pity. She would have to resign, there was no help for it, she could not possibly hope to command the respect she must have if she was to do her job… A strangled laugh broke from her; Simon Lowsley had got his wish after all, he would see her gone—most ironically at the hands of her own son.

She laughed again, raggedly. She would be free, free of the need to keep sober, free of the need to live up to impossible expectations. She would insist that Connor could stay at Waterloo Road, to finish his exams—and then, maternal obligations fulfilled, she'd go straight to the off-license and load up on the vodka. She'd go home and get rip-roaring, stonking drunk because after all, what would it matter? No job, no man, no life, no future… just another old drunk stumbling along the road—

'Mum!' This time it was Connor who was nearly shouting; he looked scared. 'Mum, look at me. You've gotta come, Dynasty's kicking the living _shit_ out of Barry and it's an abso—'

'Hold on,' Christine interrupted sharply, returning to common sense with such abruptness that it hurt. 'Dynasty?'

'Barry made comments, you can imagine what,' her son responded curtly. He was by the door, vibrating with eagerness to be gone. 'Dynasty, well, I don't need to tell _you_ what she must be feeling right now.'

'No. No, you don't.' It was a salutary reminder. Dynasty needed all the support she could get; Christine would not abandon the girl as she herself had been abandoned. Even vodka could not obliterate that betrayal. She twisted to grab her jacket from where she'd festooned it over her chair, shrugged into it, buttoned it, and pulled it straight, shaking her head to settle the straight lengths of her hair. The panic of earlier had receded to be replaced by an eerie calm.

'Lead on,' she instructed Connor. 'I'm coming.'

**1.15pm, Crush Hall**

'Kevin, hey Kevin, wait up!'

Kevin Chalk paused mid-saunter through the crush hall and grinned at Harley Taylor. 'Hey, Harl. Whassup?'

'Have you seen Kacey?' the younger boy demanded. 'Lula and I can't find her. She was goin' to come with us to the School House, 'cos some of us have planned a surprise for Maggie when she gets back an' it needs settin' up…'

'That's _brilliant_!' Kevin cut in enthusiastically, his face splitting in a grin. 'Mags deserves it, especially with well… you know,' he added awkwardly. Harley's thin face tightened, and Kevin went on hurriedly, 'Dyn and I'll help, too.'

'Yeah, thanks mate, but right now I'm worried about Kacey. No-one's seen her, even Clarky hasn't seen her.'

'Well, come with yer Uncle Kev and we'll find Dynasty, yeah?' Kevin put an arm across the smaller boy's shoulders and clapped him lightly. 'She knows all Kace's hiding places and when we've collected _her_ we'll go back to the School House—if there's time, that is,' he added prudently. 'Even if there isn't we'll come back later. Maggie'll not be back before five, I should think.'

Some of the tension faded from Harley's features. 'Thanks, Kev. You're the best.' He paused. 'Hey, d'you hear that? Sounds like a fight!'

Kevin stopped and listened in his turn. Above the usual din of a school during lunch break, he could indeed hear the sounds of altercation above them—including one very familiar voice. 'That's Dynasty! C'mon!'

As he ran he was aware that Harley was still going on about Kacey in the background, but he didn't care. Kace could look after herself, couldn't she? She was tough. She was the girl-who-wasn't-but-was. _Dynasty_ was the vulnerable one.

**1.20pm, Mrs Mulgrew's classroom**

'You've got to stop this, _all_ of you!' Imogen shrieked at the top of her voice, the pitch hurting her throat. The revelation of a painful secret followed by a family fight should _not_ have turned into this free-for-all. 'Barry, do somethin'. You can,' she insisted as the eldest Barry sat up groaning, looking like an extra from _Braveheart_. 'You're always tellin' us you're the Big Man. So _prove_ it!'

Barry shot her a filthy look but before he could move someone else appeared—and Imogen's heart sank as Mr Lowsley eyed them with open disapproval.

'What's been happening here?' the Deputy Head demanded sharply as the riot quelled. 'Mrs Mulgrew'—how Imogen jumped to hear herself addressed thus!—'you're the one I heard wailing like a banshee from two floors up. What's this about?'

Imogen shook her hair out of her face and raised her eyes defiantly to his. 'Nothin', sir,' she said boldly. 'It was nothin'.'

'Right,' Mr Lowsley drawled, an eyebrow rising. 'And that _nothing_ is why Barry Barry is covered in blood, Dynasty Barry is whimpering helplessly in a corner, sundry others are bruised, half the school is in a ferment… and how fortunate, your husband is nowhere in evidence. Lighting fires of another kind, perhaps?'

'You don't know _anything_ about Connor!' Imogen flared. 'Don't you dare talk about him like that, you don't know what he's been through—'

'You can stop right there, Imogen,' Imogen's mother-in-law said coolly as she entered her classroom without granting her Deputy even a glance as she passed him on her way to Imogen. 'If you go on like that, he _will_ know. Or perhaps he does already?' she added as she twisted neatly on one heel to look at the man quizzically. 'God knows, everyone _else_ seems to think they know everything about my family.'

The rustlings and shovings died away as the interested spectators deemed discretion to be the better part of valour and melted out of sight, leaving Imogen herself, two wounded Barrys, Mr Lowsley, Connor and Mrs Mulgrew alone.

Imogen felt her cheeks flame as she met her mother-in-law's gaze. 'Mrs Mulgrew, I—' She faltered to a stop. What _did_ you say in a situation like this one?

'It's all right, we'll deal with it later,' Christine told her. 'In the meantime, there's work to be done. Mr Lowsley, would you be so good as to get the nurse? I believe Barry could use her.' As she spoke she went to kneel by Barry's side, turning the young man's head from one side to the other as she examined his battle-wounds. 'Ouch. Those look painful. Are they?'

There was an edge to her tone that made Imogen wince, and even Barry Barry had the grace to look abashed.

'Miss, I'm sorry,' he blurted out. For once, he sounded sincere. 'I over'eard Connor an' all I was thinkin' about was takin' the piss. I never thought about—about—'

Imogen had gone to sit beside Dynasty, pulling the other girl into her arms. She was disturbed by how flaccid Dynasty felt in her embrace, as if she'd lost the will to resist, and it made her glare across at Barry over the top of his sister's head.

'What will it take for you to learn?' she demanded. 'There was that stuff with Mrs Diamond last term, and now _this_. When will you realise that women are not just—just toys, playthings to be petted or not when it suits you? We're people too!'

'I couldn't have put it better myself,' Mrs Mulgrew remarked as she pushed herself to her feet. Imogen found herself marvelling at the older woman's poise. 'Mr Lowsley, are you still here?'

The Deputy Head gave a small mock bow and vanished. Imogen thought she saw her mother-in-law shiver, and the thought struck her: was Christine _scared_ of Mr Lowsley? If so, why?

Voices came to them. Imogen could not hear them, and looked questioningly at Connor when Christine followed her Deputy out.

'Sounds like Kevin,' Connor murmured by way of explanation. 'That pillock's trying to keep him out.'

Imogen smothered an entirely inappropriate giggle in Dynasty's hair. 'Fat chance.'

Connor grinned, although the smile did not reach his eyes. 'And now he's arguing with Mum… and here he is!' he added unnecessarily as their friend burst in, followed by Harley Taylor, and came straight to Dynasty.

'What's wrong with her?' he demanded frantically as he hauled his girlfriend away from Imogen. 'What happened?' His eyes sought the room and found Barry, and his jaw clenched. 'Barry Barry. God, if you've—'

'He didn't,' Connor put in hurriedly. '_She_ beat _him_ up.'

A variety of expressions flitted across Kevin's mobile countenace, passing at railroad speed through curiosity, horror and sheer glee. Finally he settled on, 'Er, why?'

'It's a long story,' Imogen's mother-in-law put in, having returned herself with a firm closure of the classroom door. 'And if you'll come back to ours tonight, Kevin, I'll—I'll tell you.' The tremor was very faint, but even Imogen noted it.

'You—you don't have to d—do that, Miss,' said a very small voice from Kevin's shoulder. 'You don't have t—to tell u—us.'

Christine's face crumpled. 'Oh, God.'

She swung away from them, and Imogen and the others could only watch in shock as their Headmistress's shoulders shook uncontrollably for a long moment. Eventually she turned back to them, her mascara smudged almost as badly as Dynasty's.

'Maybe it's not just you I should be talking to,' she said harshly. 'Maybe it's the whole school.'

And then Lula Tsibi, her brown eyes popping dramatically out of her head, fell into the room shouting about Kacey. Kacey had been found behind the bike sheds, she announced with her usual flair, found naked, bound and gagged….

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_Soo….question: continue with this episode or leave it til next? _


	8. Episode 2-4

Hi all! Here we go again! Thanks everyone for reviews, favourites, and follows.

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**J.M.J.F.K**.: I hope you weren't left hanging too long off that cliff! Uncomfortable place to be, that…

**dustdancingintheflickerlight**: Thanks! I'm glad to know you're enjoying this, especially as I'm enjoying yours, too. Particularly _Pyromaniac_, which was what inspired me to start writing in this fandom. Hint, hint.

**I-wish-upon-falling-stars**: LOL! Thank you. That's exactly the reaction I wanted! :D

**CBurns1995**: I hate to think that '1995' in your username means that you were born in that year. That's when I did my GCSEs, *gulp*. Thanks for reviewing!

**Violet**: Thanks. Thanks for the suggestion, it was a good one and I think it will add an extra dimension to the plot and keep it true to the spirit of the TV series.

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**Previously on Waterloo Road...**

_And then Lula Tsibi, her brown eyes popping dramatically out of her head, fell into the room shouting about Kacey. Kacey had been found behind the bike sheds, she announced with her usual flair, found naked, bound and gagged…._

* * *

**1.30pm, Mrs Mulgrew's classroom**

Almost before Lula had finished, Barry was on her, pulling her into the classroom and ramming her against the wall.

'What did you do to her?' he demanded, his fists clenching in the fabric of Lula's jacket. 'What do you know?'

'Nothing, but nothing, _je ne sais pas_, I have done _nothing_,' Lula gasped, shrinking away from him.

Dynasty moved at the same time as the Head, both converging on Barry at the same time. Unlike Mrs Mulgrew, Dynasty had no compunctions about grabbing her brother by the collar and dragging him away from the Year 11 pupil.

'Are you stupid or somethin'?' she demanded, anger burning away her tears. 'Didn't you listen to word Imogen said? You can't treat people like that, no matter what you think they've done!'

'Are you all right, Lula?' Mrs Mulgrew asked, throwing Barry a very cold look. The girl nodded, although her eyes were still very wide. 'Good. Is there anyone with Kacey now?'

'R-rhiannon,' Lula offered in a subdued tone.

The door opened again, this time to admit the school nurse, with Mr Lowsley in tow, and the Head turned to them.

'Barry's going to have to shift for himself,' she told the nurse grimly. 'You're needed elsewhere, I'm afraid. Kacey Barry's been found behind the bike sheds in a bad way, if you want to go ahead. Connor, take Barry to the staff loo and get him cleaned up. Don't speak to anyone on the way. Understood?'

Connor nodded and hauled a disgusted and vehement Barry off, enthusiastically assisted by Kevin. Mrs Mulgrew's eyes turned to Dynasty.

'Dynasty—'

Dynasty folded her arms and glared at the older woman. 'I'm comin' with you, Miss. If Munch is hurt, she'll want me.' She lifted her chin and dared the Head to question her; yes, she'd had a little meltdown, but she was fine now. Munch was in trouble and that was all that mattered, but when Dynasty found out who'd done this…

Mrs Mulgrew did not protest. She simply nodded in that comprehensive way of hers and looked at Imogen. 'I need you to get Mr Clarkson,' she said gravely.

Imogen moved forward and paused. 'Bring him to the bike sheds?'

'There's no need for that,' Mr Lowsley interrupted, but the Head cut him off with, 'Kacey doesn't know you and she's very close to Tom.' Mr Lowsley looked startled, Dynasty thought, but Mrs Mulgrew was on a roll. She was telling Imogen to send Mr Clarkson to them, instead of bringing him herself_. _

'The bell's already gone for registration, I don't want you to miss more than you must. Now!' Mrs Mulgrew ended sharply when Imogen looked as if she was about to argue. Imogen obeyed and left, leaving Dynasty alone with the Head and Deputy.

'Can we go now?' she asked, her hands clasping and unclasping with nerves. 'Kacey—'

'Let's go,' Mrs Mulgrew told her with a strained smile.

Dynasty followed her out of the classroom, only to cannon into the older woman when Mr Lowsley called out, 'Mrs Mulgrew, I hope you haven't forgotten our little talk of last week.'

The Head went still while Dynasty eyed the gap between them and momentarily considered trying to dive past her. '_Miss_—' she implored, and Mrs Mulgrew glanced at her.

'You can say what you want later,' the Head threw back at her Deputy as she began to run down the stairs, Dynasty at her heels. She wheeled to a stop at the bottom, neatly evading Dynasty, and glared up at Mr Lowsley. 'Some things are more important, Simon.' Then she was off again and Dynasty found herself having to stagger along in her wake, her heels too high to allow quick movement.

'Miss,' she panted. 'Please, Miss—'

'Take them off,' Mrs Mulgrew shouted back to her. 'And remind me to give you a stern talking to later on the subject of uniform, young lady!'

Dynasty grimaced at the older woman's back, but she slipped out of her beloved shoes, dropped them beside the front steps, and ran to catch up with her headmistress, grabbing her arm.

Mrs Mulgrew came to a halt and looked at her.

Dynasty swallowed, the hard ball of fear that had formed with Lula's announcement choking her. 'What if—what if—?'

There was a flash of something in the hazel eyes facing hers, and Dynasty realised what it was: a fear and dread that matched her own, for very similar reasons. Oddly, it soothed her, reassuring her that she was not alone.

'Can you deal with this, Dynasty?' Mrs Mulgrew's voice was soft. 'It's very soon. If you want to wait—'

Dynasty's chin went up. 'Can _you_?' she countered.

The older woman's lips compressed into a thin line. 'I have to.'

'So do I, Miss,' Dynasty told her roughly, grateful when her voice remained more or less steady. 'She's me wee sister.'

Mrs Mulgrew nodded once, briefly. 'Come on!'

And they were off again, Dynasty's heart rate escalating uncomfortably as the bike sheds loomed before them.

**1.45pm, Waterloo Road Bicycle Shed**

Christine Mulgrew would never forget the sight that met them once their eyes had adjusted to the relative darkness of the interior of the bike sheds. Kacey Barry lay to one side, curled up in a tight, defensive ball. She was partly obscured by the kneeling form of the nurse, but even so Christine could see that she was covered by a light blue blanket and a black Waterloo Road blazer. She made a mental note to find a way of rewarding Rhiannon Salt later.

Dynasty went to step forward, but Christine shot out a hand and grabbed the girl's wrist, a silent command to wait, while the other hand beckoned Rhiannon forward.

She came, her skin a pasty shade of pale. 'M-miss,' she greeted shakily.

Christine found a smile. 'Well done, Rhiannon,' she murmured. 'Go inside. Find Sonya and tell her to make you a cup of tea, OK? I'll be back soon.'

Rhiannon's eyes went past her to Dynasty and her breath caught audibly. 'Dynasty—'

'Just do it,' Dynasty told her. 'You look like death warmed up, you do.' She too found a smile, and Christine was aware of a rush of pride in this girl, who never failed to surprise her. 'You're a real mate, Rhiannon. None of us Barrys'll forget this, I swear.'

Kacey must have recognised her voice. She began to cry. 'Dyn? Is that Dyn?'

'Go on,' Christine urged, pushing the girl forward.

For a moment Dynasty hesitated—but it was only for a moment, and seconds later she was bending over her little sister.

'Are you OK, Munch? Did the bastards 'urt you? 'Cos if they've 'urt you—'

'They took my clothes, Dyn, and they got these pens and held me down while they drew on me. To make me a proper woman, they said, Dyn, so that the doctor would know where to cut—'

Christine closed her eyes, biting deep into her lip. This might not have been physical rape, but the damage it could cause Kacey was incalculable, given her gender identity crisis.

'Do you know who did it, Munch? Who did this to yah?'

Kacey's voice was so faint that Christine struggled to hear. When she could make it out, her blood ran cold.

'It's S—steve-O's m—ates. They're goin' to get us all, 'e said, 'cos you grassed. _All_ of us, 'e said, Connor and Imogen and Kevin too. An' this is just the s—tart…'

**2.00pm, Library**

Kevin and Connor were very subdued as they entered the library for their free period. Barry had shaken them off in high dudgeon once they'd cleaned him up (he'd been more or less co-operative, to Connor's obvious surprise) and while en route back to Mrs Mulgrew's classroom the other two had encountered Imogen, who'd told them that they were all to return to their usual timetables. For Imogen, this meant a meeting with her new peripatetic teacher of the deaf; for the boys, the library.

'This is crazy,' Kevin muttered after ten minutes of fruitless staring at his copy of _Macbeth_. 'How does your mum expect us to do _anything_ right now?'

Connor gave a weary shrug. 'I stopped trying to work out grown up logic years ago. She probably thinks she's helping by taking our minds off it or some such crap.' He glared at his books in his own turn.

A girl came to sit across from them, and Kevin glanced casually across. 'Oh, hi, Jas.' He leaned over to say to Conor, 'Mate, d'you think your mum will tell us when she knows how Kacey is?'

Connor's lips thinned. 'Who knows. It all depends, doesn't it?' His eyes met Kevin's, their changeable blue-green deeper than usual. 'On whether Kace was—you know.'

Kevin flinched; this had not occurred to him. 'God. D'you think she was?'

Connor shrugged again and returned to _Macbeth_, his expression closed. Kevin eyed him, longing to talk but afraid to push it. He'd heard some garbled rumour that day about Mrs Mulgrew. He'd dismissed it at the time as nonsense, but now he remembered how strange the Head had looked in her classroom a short while ago, her unwavering support of Dynasty over these past weeks, Connor's anxiety… it all added up to something that might not, after all, be the rumour mill gone mad. He sighed and reached across to retrieve his copy of _Macbeth_ and stopped when he realised that Jas was staring at him.

'What?' he demanded curtly. Usually he tried to be friendly, but he hadn't forgotten that morning's lesson with Mr Clarkson and this day was turning into something he could do without.

'Did you say something about Kacey Barry?' she asked tentatively.

'What's it to you?' Connor snapped before Kevin could reply. 'Kev, mate, I can't do anything with this. It needs Imogen. Who cares about the role of women in the bloody thing anyway?'

Kevin managed a grin and tried to strike a jocular note. 'Your mum, evidently. Why don't you ask her later?' Eager for a bit of lightness, he flipped his rubber at his friend, who scowled, caught it, and replaced it neatly on the table.

'That's not funny,' Connor hissed. 'My mum's the _last_ person I want to talk to right now.'

'At least you have a mum,' Jas put in unexpectedly, and the boys stared at her, startled. They'd never heard her volunteer personal information about herself before, implicitly or otherwise.

Kevin eyed her with interest and a spike of fellow-feeling as Connor rolled his eyes. 'Dad?'

Jas shrugged, a gesture that might have meant anything. 'What were you saying about Kacey?' she asked again, instead of responding to his question.

Kevin was about to answer when Connor interrupted. 'Yeah, and like I said, what's it to you?'

Jas seemed to grow smaller in her seat. 'I—it was just the w—way you said it,' she faltered. 'As if something bad had happened—'

Connor's gaze narrowed. 'Nothin' to do with _you_.'

Jas's thin features became even more pinched and her head dropped. Kevin thought he caught a gleam of tears as she swiftly gathered her books and moved away from them, and he nudged Connor with his elbow.

'Why'd you have to be like that?' he muttered reproachfully. 'She was only _asking_.'

Connor was still watching the girl, his eyes hooded. 'Dynasty mustn't have told you,' he began, and Kevin's ribcage constricted painfully in anticipation. 'Imogen said. Dyn's been getting these—these pervo messages. She doesn't know the number, but Imogen said it was clear that the sender was either in the classroom or had a spy. And _she_,' he added with a significant jerk of the head towards Jasmine, 'was caught with a phone she wouldn't give up.'

Something that was bubbling and red-hot and uncontrollable surged through Kevin at those words, propelling him out of his seat and across the room to Jasmine. Such was his anger that everything he'd ever thought, ever felt, about violence towards women went out of the window as he grabbed the girl and shook her hard, ignoring how her colour whitened, ignoring Connor shouting, ignoring the restraining hands that pulled and plucked at him.

'You little bitch,' he hissed, putting his face close to Jasmine's. 'It was you, wasn't it, messing with Dynasty's head, spyin' on her, spyin' on _us, _goin' after Kacey, who's just a kid. Who's your puppetmaster, eh? Steve-O?'

'Don't, please, le' me alone,' Jasmine begged, her hands pulling at his, and the naked fear on her face penetrated Kevin's rage, turning him sick from shame. He let his hands fall away from her and stared as she collapsed limply onto a chair, the sound loud against the shocked hush that surrounded them.

He could hardly bear to look at her, but he had to apologise. He would not become his stepfather, or any of the other loud, abusive 'uncles' his mother had brought home, men who thought with their fists—or another part of their anatomy—rather than their heads. He was better than that.

'I—I—I'm sorry,' he stammered. 'I—'

Slowly, Jasmine raised her head. Her eyes glittered. 'He's not me puppetmaster,' she said quietly, and for the first time they noticed the cadences of Liverpool in her speech. 'Steve-O, I mean. ''E's me 'alf-brother.'

* * *

_Da-da-da-dum. _

_Well, I know WR episodes usually finish at the end of the school day, but I think that's it for this one. So what did you think? Was it predictable?_

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**NEXT TIME**

**As Kacey struggles to deal with what's happened to her, Christine takes steps to contain school gossip, Jasmine becomes Waterloo Road's Girl Most Likely To Get Lynched, and a conspiracy hatches amongst the staff…**


	9. Episode 3-1

_And so we move into Episode Three! This story is giving me an entirely new sympathy for TV series writers; it involves juggling so many stories and perspectives that it's easy for something to get dropped along the way, so do forgive any continuity errors—and don't be afraid to point 'em out if you find any. _

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Review response time!

**BowTiesAreCool001**: I think I've got that right! Thanks… and I too think bow ties are cool. Wonder what Twelve will be like?

**I-Wish-Upon-Falling-Stars**: *groans* Thank you! Glad you're enjoying.

**AllyKat8**: Wow, speechlessness is quite a compliment. Thank you! BTW, if my writing is good—it should be. I've had a _Chalet School_ fill-in book published, and that meant a good couple of years of intensive work with a professional editor, so it's just not talent, it's also from working with professionals. Plus, as you know, I'm a historian by training and in history you can get away with a good deal if you can turn a good phrase. So remember that, would-be historians!

**dustdancingintheflickerlight**: I'm absolutely serious. _Pyromaniac_ was the first long WR story that really took my fancy—I'm a very fast reader, so I tend to prefer long stories where they're available and readable from a spelling/punctuation/grammar pov. I went from that to your other stories and those by **Allykat** and **I-Wish-Upon-Falling-Stars** and before I knew it, I was hooked and ideas began to percolate! If you want someone to bounce ideas off give me a shout. :)

**CBurns1995**: Eeep. Well, you can help keep me straight for teenage language—although I should be OK as I tend to borrow straight from the show, but my deafness means I'm relying very heavily on that as I can't just absorb how people talk as hearing writers often do. Thanks to the _Chalet School_ book above, I can do 1950s dialogue with no trouble. 2010s, not so much.

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_Enjoy!_

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**6.30am, Barry household**

Kacey crept through the silent house to the bathroom, a bundle of clothes over her arm. It was necessary that she be dressed and out before everyone else; once Carol was up, the place would become a madhouse between Barry and Kevin's bickering, Dynasty's prinking, and Carol's yelling. Usually Kacey rejoiced the familiar chaos of a Barry morning, but now it was too much. She didn't want everyone looking at her and talking to her and about her and over her… no, far better to just evade the whole drama by getting dressed early and slipping out, leaving only a note behind. It wouldn't be the first time she'd had to leave early for football training. No-one would know it was a lie; what did they care about the training times for the girls' team?

She washed and dressed quickly. She no longer bothered with the binding straps she'd once used; she simply focused on covering her treacherous body as soon as possible. It was a shameful thing, something to be hidden away, and the more invisible she could become, the better. She didn't fit as a boy, she didn't fit as a girl, a peg that was neither round nor square. She'd been right that day when she told Mr Clarkson she'd be better off dead, but he'd disagreed. She wouldn't kill herself, that was for wimps, and Barrys weren't wimps, but she'd do the next best thing: make herself invisible. She was taking up too much space, too much _awkward_ space.

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**7.15am, Mulgrew household**

'Morning, Mum.'

Christine twisted in surprise when her son greeted her with an unusually demonstrative peck on the cheek. 'Morning, son.' She eyed him suspiciously over the rim of her coffee cup as he hummed through the putting together of his own breakfast. 'You're in a good mood.'

He grinned. 'I fancy eggs. You want?'

'Only if you're making 'em!' Imogen said with a cheeky grin that split her face as she leaned over the breakfast bar towards her mother-in-law. She took Christine's cup from her. 'More coffee?'

'All right, you two, what's up?' Christine demanded. 'Just tell me, whatever it is. I can't stand the suspense.'

'What suspense?' Imogen asked innocently as she returned Christine's coffee, made just as she liked it, she noted. 'Aren't we allowed to be nice?'

'You're teenagers,' Christine responded acerbically. 'There's a catch in there somewhere.'

'And you wonder where _I_ get my nasty suspicious mind from,' Connor remarked to his wife. 'Mum, relax. We're not buttering you up, promise. We just…'

Christine looked at him, her expression questioning.

Imogen took over. She was always the more articulate of the two. 'We know it's been hard lately. Some of that's been our fault. We just—we just want to be supportive.'

Christine had been feeling unusually buoyant that morning, but with Imogen's words the warm contentment evaporated. Imogen wasn't joking about the difficulties—difficulties that she'd evaded over the past week but which must be faced head-on in the coming days. First there was Kacey Barry, who'd be returning to school that day. Christine quailed at the thought of seeing her, never to mention Carol Barry. She expected an unpleasant encounter at the very least; the tentative rapport established between them in the aftermath of the _Julian Noble Show_ could not be expected to weather Kacey's assault on school grounds, during school hours, on Christine's watch. Then there was the question of how to deal with the rumours about her own past. She'd hoped that they would die down after a couple of days, but by the previous Friday silence still fell when she entered a room, and it wasn't the right _kind_ of silence… _and_ Simon Lowsley had become so greasily solicitous that it made her skin crawl.

Her throat closed and her eyes burned from shame and guilt alike.

'Forget the eggs,' she said roughly, shoving her mug into Imogen's hands. 'I'll grab something later.'

She could not get out of the kitchen fast enough, conscious of her young people's concerned gazes burning into her back as she left.

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**8.00am, Staff Room**

'Well, well, well, this _is_ a gathering of the clans,' George Windsor drawled as he sauntered into a crowded staffroom some ten minutes before briefing was due to begin. 'No-one's on duty manning the fort or frisking the natives? D'you actually mean to tell me that Our Glorious Leader is giving us a few minutes to _ourselves_?'

'Shut up, George,' Tom Clarkson told him shortly. 'I know the patrols are a pain, but Christine was right to start them. If we'd had them before, Kacey might not have—' He had to stop to clear his throat.

'I agree, Tom, but George has a point,' Audrey told him as she carefully rinsed her cup, checked her name-label was still secured on the base, and replaced it in a cupboard. 'We're entitled to down time too, and with all our breaks being taken up with hall or playground duty, well…' She lifted her hands in a characteristic gesture. 'We've never got all the frees back that we lost last term, and I can only speak for myself. I _need_ that time.'

'Complaining again, Miss McFall?' Simon Lowsley asked as he strolled into the staffroom, Christine behind him. 'You know what they say, my dear. If you can't stand the heat, get out of the kitchen. Perhaps you should consider re—retiring?'

Audrey drew herself up to her full height and glared at the deputy, her eyes round and hard. 'Are you suggesting I should pack my bags?'

Simon gave an nonchalant shrug as he examined his fingernails. 'Telling it like it is. You've had your time. Don't you feel ashamed sitting here, take up space and salary that could be better served on a younger, fresher teacher?'

'I—I—' Audrey stammered in shocked disbelief before turning towards the Head with an anguished, '_Christine_! Are you going to let him talk to me like that?'

For a moment, Audrey thought her friend would come to her defence, her head coming up in a gesture that she'd learned meant that Christine had come to a decision.

'Simon,' the Head began but Lowsley cut her off, his tone turning soft as he fleetingly rested a hand on her arm.

'It's all right, Christine. I'll handle this. Why don't you go back to the office? You're not looking well, and no wonder.'

Distracted from her grievances, Audrey focused on the younger woman. Simon was right, she realised. Christine _wasn't_ looking well, although this week she'd done her best to patch the damage with an immaculate suit and careful makeup—but all the skin lighteners in the world could not hide the bruised weariness in her eyes. Audrey winced at the memory of last week's rumours and hurried to apologise, hating to think that she could be adding to her friend's burdens.

'It's all right, Christine,' she said, inadvertently echoing Simon's phrase. 'I'm fine. I'm sorry.'

Christine gave her a nod and turned as though to return to her office, her shoulders slumping, Audrey noted with concern. Then, as Simon began to talk about rumour management and the arrangements for Kacey Barry's return, Audrey realised that Christine had not moved through the connecting door, had in fact insinuated herself through the crowd of teachers so that she stood at Audrey's side.

'Don't be fooled,' she murmured into Audrey's ear as she passed. 'Please, Audrey.' She pushed a scrap of paper into Audrey's hand and continued on her way.

The History teacher glanced about her as she hurriedly shoved the paper into a pocket, curiosity thrumming in her veins. Her previous suspicion that there was something very wrong in the relationship between the Head and the new deputy rekindled, and her fist clenched about the paper in her pocket.

So Simon Lowsley thought he could mess with Christine, did he? Well, he thought wrong, she told herself fiercely. Christine had won her place at Waterloo Road and won it fairly, and of one thing Audrey McFall was certain: Waterloo Road took care of its own, from its youngest pupil all the way up to the Head herself—and so Simon bloody Lowsley would find out before they were all very much older!

* * *

**9.00am, Mr Clarkson's room**

'Get in and sit down, _quietly_,' Mr Clarkson ordered his form as he made his way past the long queue of them outside his door. 'Dynasty, hold on,' he added as the elder Barry girl went to enter.

'Sir,' she acceded tonelessly, Kevin Chalk remaining firmly by her side.

At any other time, with any other students, Tom would have insisted that the boyfriend leave them in peace, but he had not missed how Dynasty clung surreptitiously to Kevin's hand—especially when Jas Maguire went by.

'Sir, why haven't you done somethin' about her?' Kevin demanded heatedly. 'We told you last week. She's Steve-O's sister, she confessed, and she helped organise the assault on Kacey. We're sure of it!'

Tom folded his arms and looked judicially at the boy. 'That's a serious accusation, Kevin. Proof?'

'What more d'you want?' Kevin returned through his teeth. 'C'mon, sir. _Half-sister_, for God's sake! And she wouldn't give you her 'phone when you asked, remember?'

'That's not evidence,' Tom told him tiredly, having been over this many times during the past week. 'Do you remember the number of times I've had to argue with _you_ to get your phone off of you?'

'But that's different!' Kevin argued. 'I was working on _Chalk and Cheese_—'

'During A' level English?' Tom asked with point, and a touch of colour appeared on the boy's cheeks.

'Even so. I wasn't doing anythin' _wrong_.'

'And neither has she, that we know of. Innocent until proven guilty, eh?'

'But—'

'That's enough, Kevin,' Tom interrupted, losing patience. He jerked his head towards the open classroom door. 'I want a word with your lady. Go on, in!'

Dynasty gave Kevin's arm a squeeze with her free hand as she disentangled her fingers. 'I'll be fine. Sir's 'ere, I'm safe.'

'As houses,' Tom confirmed.

'At least you didn't say flats or bike sheds,' Kevin muttered sourly as he brushed past them into the classroom.

Tom winced. 'Sorry, Dynasty. Bad choice of words.'

'It's OK, sir,' the girl told him with a smile that wavered at the edges. 'You didn't mean it, an' me mum says there's no point in bein' oversensitive.'

'No,' Tom agreed dubiously. 'Speaking of your family, how's Kacey? She's back at school this morning, isn't she?'

Dynasty's eyes widened, the luxurious false lashes turning her into a caricature of a cartoon character. 'Haven't you spoken to 'er?'

Tom's brow contracted. 'Should I have?'

''Course, sir. She was out at break of dawn to come 'ere, her note said. Football trainin' for the girls' team an' all, wasn't it?'

Tom's stomach, well filled that morning with bacon and eggs, turned cavernous with dread. 'It's nearly the end of October,' he pointed out patiently. 'It's barely light enough for staff briefing at eight. No point in having football training, so no, I haven't seen her.'

Dynasty whitened and clutched at him, the sharp edge of her long nails driving through his woollen jumper and cotton shirt to dent the skin below. 'Then _where_ is she, sir? Where _is_ she?!'

* * *

_A bit shorter than usual, this time, but not much. Have to leave you on a _little_ cliff, don't I? ;)_


	10. Episode 3-2

_**Author's note:**_

_Thanks for your reviews, you lovely people! Kudos to __**Never-Clip-My-Wings-x**__, __**I-Wish-Upon-Falling-Stars**__, __**brightlightsbrighterdreams**__ and __**CBurns1995**__._

_**Brightlightsbrighterdreams, **__I'm glad you like the Christine-Dynasty stuff. More of that coming up later!_

_Enjoy!_

* * *

**10.35am, Mr Clarkson's room**

Imogen absent-mindedly chewed the top of her pen as she looked through the latest draft of her A'level English coursework. Mr Clarkson believed in getting something out of them early in Year 12, he said, all ready to be revised and improved in Year 13. Imogen more than half-suspected that this was just a ruse to ensure that _everyone_ had something to submit by the time the deadline rolled round, irrespective of quality. As ruses went, it was a good one.

Truth to tell, she wasn't getting much done. The tragic aspect of her companion made it difficult; Dynasty had not even pretended to work since Mr Clarkson announced what they were doing that lesson, choosing instead to stare sightlessly into the middle distance, even though Mr Clarkson had phoned Sonya to check that Kacey had definitely showed for registration. Talking to her had gained no response, so Imogen had given up. Now she glanced sideways at her friend.

'You should at least _pretend_ to be doing somethin',' she whispered at last.

Dynasty turned blazing eyes on her. 'I don't give a stuff about me coursework, Im. All I care about is tryin' to find out why everything's going wrong for us Barrys lately. What have we ever done to anyone?'

Imogen forebore to point out that their father _was_ in prison for robbery.

However, Dynasty had thought of that. 'I know me dad's a nasty piece of work, an' Barry's not much better, but they've not suffered, 'ave they? It's just us girls, me and our Kacey. It's just not _fair_!'

'I know,' Imogen whispered. 'But life isn't fair, is it?'

Dynasty's eyes raked her. 'Yeah, and you'd know,' she went on. 'Life's not been too kind to you either, what with your hearin' and your dad and Connor and now all this stuff about his mum—'

'Less chat and more work over there, please,' Mr Clarkson insisted, glaring at them. 'Imogen, get your bits and pieces together. You're next.'

'After that Jas-bitch,' Dynasty muttered, the venom in her tone startling Imogen. 'Oh, she's comin' now. Watch this,' and Imogen could only watch powerlessly as Dynasty put out her foot at the crucial moment, sending Jas—who'd been absorbed in her coursework—flying.

'Are you OK, Jasmine?' Mr Clark asked from his desk.

Jas looked shaken as she got to her feet. 'I—I'm fine, sir,' she called back. 'I tripped.'

'Well, watch where you're going in future,' the teacher advised. 'Imogen!'

'Comin', sir!' she called, gathering her papers together and preparing to move. As she bent forward she caught sight of Dynasty's expression. Her lip was curled in satisfaction, and disquiet flipped in Imogen's belly. Dynasty Barry—as she had cause to know—had a kind heart and could be a friend in a million—or an implacable enemy.

* * *

**10.45am, Mr Clarkson's room**

Tom eyed Imogen Mulgrew curiously as she sat in the chair awaiting her, a deep line marring her white forehead.

'Anything wrong?' he asked in an undertone.

She did not look up from the pile of papers she was going through, and Tom cringed internally. He'd forgotten again. He put a finger on the sheaf of papers, flipping it gently, and was rewarded when raised her head.

'I've done the best I could,' she began nervously. 'I don't think it's very good, sir, I don't think I've gone into Lady Macbeth's motivations as much as I could've, but—'

'You were distracted,' Tom finished for her. 'Well, don't worry about it. As I said, this is just a dummy run. The time for worry will be next year.'

'It doesn't matter anyway,' Imogen said despondently, her dark head drooping. 'I'm not gonna get to uni now, am I?'

'What?' Tom was genuinely startled. As far as the staff were concerned, Imogen Mulgrew was a shoo-in for university, and a Russell Group university at that. The magic word 'Oxbridge' had been spoken in conjunction with her name. 'Hey, Imogen, look at me,' he coaxed, raising her chin with a forefinger. It was not a gesture he would use with many girls of her age, but he was safe with Imogen. 'Talk to me. What's this about not going to uni?'

'How can I?' she demanded, pointing to her ears. 'I'm profoundly deaf, sir. It's hard enough here, but at least you all know me and Mrs Mulgrew—'

'Would have us for breakfast if she thought we weren't helping you to the best of our collective ability,' Tom interrupted firmly. 'Don't be daft. Deaf people have gone to university before. In fact,' he continued, 'one of my mates at uni, his girlfriend was deaf. She went to this school for the deaf down in Newbury, and they send deaf kids to university every year. _Excellent_ universities too,' he added meaningfully. 'Even Oxbridge.'

Imogen looked as if she could not believe her ears. '_Seriously_, sir?'

'Seriously,' he confirmed, relieved to see her smile. 'So let's hear no more about this. Now, give me that bundle of papers before you crumple them up…' Sheepishly, she handed her coursework over, and he gave her a grin. 'You're a good student, Imogen. Don't doubt yourself. And keep an eye on your friend there,' he added, nodding towards Dynasty.

'I am. I mean, I do,' Imogen told him as she rose. She glanced towards Dynasty in her own turn. 'Sir, about Kacey—'

'I've told you all I know,' he assured her. 'She's in school, Sonya said. She's safe and well.'

And then, as if to prove him wrong, the door opened and a panicked Harley Taylor put his wild head in just as the bell went for Break. 'Sir, you gotta come, Miss says,' he gabbled. 'Kacey's taken an awful turn, sir, she won't let anyone near 'er. She's be'aving like a right nutter!'

'Sir, I'm comin' too!' Dynasty called, bounding to her feet.

Tom glanced at Imogen, who had not yet moved back to her own place. 'No, you're staying right here,' he said briefly. 'Imogen, Kevin, Connor, you can stay with her. The rest of you, get! Now!'

Warned by his manner, the class departed with remarkable speed and silence, and Tom turned back to the waiting foursome. Dynasty's arms were folded defiantly across her chest.

'Sir—' she began.

'You stay here,' he insisted in a tone that brooked no refusal. 'I'll send word as soon as I can. Do it, Dynasty!' he added when she looked as though she was about to argue. 'Kacey's with Mrs Mulgrew now, isn't that right?' Harley nodded. 'See? She's safe, I promise you. We'll look after her. And as soon as we can, we'll send for you—but only if you prove we can trust you by doing what you're told now.' The mutinous set of the girl's shoulders began to relax, and Tom sighed inwardly. 'Deal?'

It took a while but eventually she nodded acquiescence, and he exhaled a sigh of relief. From the look on Harley's face, Kacey was in quite a state.

'OK, then, Harley. Let's go!'

Within moments, they'd arrived at Christine's classroom, and Tom automatically checked the room through the window before entering. He was relieved to see that it was nearly empty. He turned to Harley and clapped the slightly-built boy on the shoulder. 'You go off too, mate,' he advised. 'I'll keep you posted, you and Lula.'

Harley's shoulders slumped. He looked as though he carried the weight of the world on his thin shoulders. 'Yeah, I know.' He raised wistful eyes to Tom's face. 'I hope she's all right, sir. I just want everyone to be normal and happy and healthy, y'know?'

'Yeah.' Tom rubbed his hands over his face and thought of Grantly, of Christine, of the Barry girls, of Tariq, the Kellys, Maxine and Izzie and so many others… 'I do. Go on, you.'

He watched Harley go down the stairs, hands shoved deeply in pockets, head bent forward, and shook his head. It wasn't fair. Poor kid. Poor all of them.

He took a deep breath, put his shoulder to the door, and entered.

* * *

**10.50am, Mrs Mulgrew's room**

One moment Kacey was fine, Christine reminded herself as she waited for Tom. Quiet, but fine. She'd come with the others, settled into her usual place, and had been unwontedly silent during the lesson. True, Kacey had never been as outspoken as her sister, but she'd generally found something to contribute. And then the bell had gone, the class had risen, and Kacey had slumped to the ground in a dead faint.

Alarming, but not serious, Christine knew. Teenage girls quite often did faint spectacularly when under stress, and Kacey had been under tremendous stress for months. No, the really frightening thing had happened when the child regained consciousness. She hasn't recognised her surroundings or the people with her, she'd simply curled into a ball and began to rock backwards and forwards, imploring to be left alone, for no-one to hurt her…

Recognising the signs, Christine had dismissed the class and sent Harley for Tom. Kacey hadn't responded to her own voice, and Tom was the adult she seemed closest too. In the meantime, all Christine could do was crouch near the distraught girl and talk quietly, hoping the the gentleness of her voice would penetrate even if the sense of her words did not.

All the same, she was very glad when entered, concern plain on his face.

'Kacey—' he began, and Christine beckoned him over.

'Gently, Tom,' she warned. 'She's having a flashback to last week. She doesn't know where she is or who we are.'

Tom's eyes went to the girl crouching her desk. 'If I—'

'Listen to me,' Christine insisted quietly. '_Listen_ to me, Tom. I know what I'm talking about. She doesn't know where she is. All you can do is sit near her and talk, and hope that something will get through. She trusts you, but right now… she's not herself.'

Tom looked shaken as he settled down on the floor, across from Christine. She gave him a slight nod of encouragement and he began to talk.

'You're a right one for getting into messes,' he began in a tone that was half-chiding, half-humorous. 'It just won't do, Kace. I need you on the pitch, gettin' stuck in, walloping the other girls into shape. They're nothing without you, just a herd of silly sheep. We want to win our matches this term, don't we? And first off, we're gonna take on the boys, just like I said. We'll wipe the smirks off their faces, won't we? They'll soon realise that their team is nothin' without you in it, I promise.'

Kacey did not respond; she was still rocking, begging them not to hurt her, saying that she was sorry for not being a good girl, she really was…

Christine's hands clenched in the fabric of her jacket. Dealing with Dynasty had been hard enough, but this was unbearable. Was this how Audrey had felt the day Joe came back, when Christine herself had got lost inside herself, imprisoned behind the bars of alcohol and memory? If so, she owed her friend an apology.

'It's not working, Christine,' Tom hissed. She'd never heard him sound so utterly at a loss.

She met his eyes, holding her gaze with her own. 'Then we'll stay with her 'til it does,' she whispered back. 'It needs time.' She hesitated before asking, slowly, 'Have you ever experienced it? Flashbacks?'

Tom rubbed his hands over his face in gesture she was starting to recognise. 'Not like this,' he answered hoarsely. 'Not this bad.' He gave her a knowing look. 'Tell me to get lost… but from what I've heard over the past week I'm guessing you have.'

She began to pluck a loose thread on her jacket, her heart thudding unevenly against her ribs. He was the first person to actually call her on those rumours, the first one who'd dared to ask. 'Yes. The last time… was here.' It was difficult to speak, to form the words that would confirm the stories, even obliquely. 'Over there,' she indicated her desk. 'I—it was stupid,' she added shakily. 'To react like that. It's nearly twenty years…'

He looked appalled. 'Then Kacey—'

'No,' she shook her head, her hair swinging with the movement. '_No_, Tom. Kacey and Dynasty will not be like me, I won't allow it.' She glanced at Kacey and realised that the girl's rocking was slowing. 'It's not the same. I was alone, my husband had left, I'd discovered I was pregnant, and Joe told everyone who'd listen that the child wasn't his, even when I said—tried to believe—it was. M–y parents believed him,' she continued, the words sticking in her throat as she articulated this betrayal. 'I couldn't go home. I—I did what I could, I did my PGCE, somehow. The college didn't know anything beyond that I was pregnant. I got through it, even managed a distinction.' She gave a short laugh. 'I threw everything I had into it, and mercifully the strain didn't affect Connor. Not _then_,' she ended bitterly. 'I got my first post when Connor was barely a month old. George was there, he took me under his wing for some reason. He kept me going.'

_And introduced me to drink_, she thought but did not say. She would never blame George for that; he hadn't known her circumstances, and she hadn't known—then—that she had an addictive personality.

'God,' Tom murmured. He looked sickened. 'Christine—'

'Don't pity me,' she told him through her teeth. 'Please. I can endure anything but pity.'

His eyes were compassionate, their blue very soft. 'Will respect do?'

She allowed her head to fall forward to hide the sudden tears. 'Of course.' Quickly, she disposed of the tell-tale drops. This was not about her, although somehow it had become so.

'You should tell the kids,' Tom said suddenly. 'Scotch the rumours with the truth.'

She huffed, breath rattling against her teeth. 'The rumours _are_ the truth.'

'Mostly speculation, at this point, you know what kids are.' He leaned forward, his expression intent. 'Christine, tell them your story. Don't be afraid to be open with them. They need to know that their Headmistress is as fallible and human as they are, and that they can survive whatever life throws at them.'

'Because I'm such a good example of that,' she returned ironically.

'You are,' he insisted. 'Look at you, a head teacher. Michael was right to leave it to you. I've worked at Waterloo Road a long time, and I can tell you, Christine Mulgrew, you have it in you to be the best.'

'I think you should,' Kacey put in suddenly, startling them. She looked small and frail, but her eyes were clear. ''E's right, Miss.'

'Kacey!' In less time than it takes to tell, the two teachers were by the girl's side.

'Let's get you off the floor, love,' Tom began, extending his hand, and Christine held her breath, wondering if the traumatised child would take it. The hand trembled in mid-air as Kacey considered—and then slowly, watchfully, she reached out to take it, allowing the man to pull her to her feet.

Once there, she wavered, and Tom grabbed her. 'Hey, steady on. We've just got you up. Don't want to have to scrape you off the floor _again_, do we?'

Christine climbed to her own feet as gracefully as she could and reached for her bag. 'Here, try this,' she told Kacey, holding out a _Brunch_ bar. Her doctor had objected to her using cigarettes as a replacement for alcohol, so she'd decided to try chocolate instead. At least an over-indulgence of _that_ would hurt no-one but herself.

The girl grabbed it, wolfing down three bites in one go before an odd expression passed across her features. She put what was left of the bar on a nearby desk, handling it with delicate fingers. 'Thanks, Miss. I'm fine now.'

Christine looked at her closely, unconvinced. 'Have you eaten this morning?'

Kacey's gaze was unwavering. ''Course.'

'I think you could do with a cup of sweet tea,' Christine informed her, still watching her. 'Mr Clarkson, why don't you take her to Mrs Budgen and see what she can find? Maggie _is_ in this morning, isn't she?'

Tom, looking somewhat befogged, nodded. 'Yeah.' Christine raised her eyebrows at him and the penny dropped. 'Oh, right. Yeah. Sure. Come on, Kace. Let's get a bite into you. Can't have you keeling over during practice later, can we?'

Kacey nodded, looking resigned. Tom put his arm around her shoulders and guided her towards the door.

'Kacey!' Christine called. The girl turned, and the Head gave her a gentle smile. 'Talk to someone. Please. Don't'—her voice broke and she had to take a breath before continuing, 'don't do what I did. Believe me, it's not worth it.'

Kacey's eyes were very large in her small face as she nodded. 'I know, Miss,' she said soberly. 'I get it, I do.' She stopped and fidgeted with the hem of her shirt, as always spilling untidily over her trousers. 'Miss?'

'Hmmm?'

'Mr Clarkson's right,' Kacey told her. 'You _should_ tell 'em. You should tell 'em all.' She chewed her lip. 'It helped me, Miss. 'Earin' yer. Told me you got it, that it was OK to come out. An' our Dyn, you've 'elped 'er too, an' all.'

It was the longest speech Christine had ever heard Kacey make. Her throat closed.

'I—I—OK,' she said at last. 'I'll do it. I'll tell them.'

'Good,' Kacey said, before allowing herself to be led from the room.

Christine collapsed limply into the nearest chair and covered her face with her hands. She'd committed herself now. Once she would lied and found a way out of it, but the children's trust had become precious to her. She'd told Kacey she would do it. What kind of example would she be if she did not?

* * *

_BTW, there really is a school for the deaf in Newbury. It's called the Mary Hare School for the Deaf and was founded after the Second World War as a grammar school for deaf children. It's known as the Eton of the deaf world and has even been described as one of the best in the world of its kind. I'm an ex-pupil and proud to be; the fact that I can write BA(Hons), MA, Ph.D, PGCE(QTS) after my name is in no small part due to them. Just google 'mary hare'!_


	11. Episode 3-3

_Hi everyone! As always, thanks for reviews, favourites and follows! I think I've replied to everyone personally this time, so without further ado…_

* * *

**************************TRIGGER ALERT*********************************

**This chapter refers to the early stages of eating disorder. Please, please do not read if you are likely to be affected by this. If you are reading this and it strikes home, **_**do**_** consider asking for help, even when every instinct screams against it. If you are involved in supporting someone who is dealing with ED, don't feel wary of asking for help for yourself. And please, I beg you, do NOT try to deal with it alone. Believe me, it doesn't work. I've been there. Also, of course, for mention of rape/sexual assault, but that's a given for this!**

* * *

**1.00pm, Assembly Hall**

Kacey shifted uncomfortably in her seat as the assembly hall filled, her compeers openly wondering why they had been called here. She knew, but she would not tell. She was glad Mr Clarkson was sitting nearby, she thought, glancing at him. She could only see his profile, but his very presence on the row was reassuring—even if he'd nearly divined her secret at Break.

They'd gone to Mrs Budgen after leaving Mrs Mulgrew. When Mr Clarkson explained, the kindly House Mistress had bustled about, getting Kacey a cup of hot, sweet tea and plumping a freshly baked flapjack on the table. Warm, honey-sweet oaty aromas had drifted towards her. They should have been comforting, but Kacey had no memories of home-baking; Carol had never been one for cooking, and all Kacey could think as she looked at the flapjacks was how expensive they were, in terms of calories and fats and other Bad Things. Too expensive for someone who wanted to be invisible.

She pushed the flapjack away, shaking her head. 'I'm not hungry, miss.'

Mr Clarkson's eyebrows had drawn together. 'Come on, Kacey. You nearly passed out in English! It's nothing to be ashamed of, girls your age do it all the time.'

Kacey flinched. _Girls your ag_e, indeed. She wasn't like other girls her age, was she? And she was ashamed, deeply, horribly ashamed of her freakish body and even more freakish mind. Why couldn't she be normal, more like the daughter her mother expected, the sister Barry so clearly preferred? That—that _man_ hadn't needed to draw on her body to indicate things that needed improvement. In fact, when she thought of it objectively, she thought he'd been relatively restrained. If she herself had wielded that pen, her list of suggested changes would have been much more extensive.

'Come on,' Mr Clarkson urged, pulling out a chair. 'You'd better crack on, my lass. Maggie's flapjacks are something special. If you don't eat them, someone else will—me, for instance,' he added with a grin. Mrs Budgen rolled her eyes and flipped a towel towards him, her lips twitching in a near-smile.

Reluctantly, Kacey agreed. There was no point in making a fuss, was there? Making a fuss never got you anywhere, any more than crying and screaming and shouting did. Better to deal with it inside, to make yourself strong, because crap happened. You couldn't control the world, you could only control yourself. She lifted the crumbly, golden flapjack to her lips and forced it down, every bite, even when she wanted to gag over the texture.

Even now, several hours later, Kacey still shuddered at the memory of that flapjack in her mouth. She'd choked it down, because she'd wanted to get away from Maggie and Mr Clarkson. Then she'd sneaked out the back to the bins and made herself sick. She hated the act, hated the burning sensation of it, but the aftermath of euphoria—the feeling of liberation and control—made up for it. That was why it had to stay a secret. Secrecy _was_ control, she believed. The loos were too exposed, it was too likely someone would hear and be drawn to stick their nose into her business. At least with any luck Mrs Mulgrew's speech would distract the school's attention from her, and give them someone else to gossip about, someone else to watch.

**1.05pm, Assembly Hall**

Audrey sat tensely amongst the audience as they waited for Christine to arrive, Tom Clarkson by her side. They'd decided to sit amongst Year 11 and Year 12, with Connor and Imogen Mulgrew in front of Audrey. The History teacher eyed the young pair as they waited; they were tense and quiet, and Audrey couldn't blame them. She was tense herself, and a glance at Tom revealed him to be studying the end of his tie rather than paying attention to the children surrounding them.

She moved to whisper in his ear. 'D'you think she's doing the right thing?'

Tom looked at her. 'God knows.' He sighed. 'Someone has to say something, though, and better that it come from Christine herself. Besides,' he added with a reminiscent quirk of the lips, 'it's not the first time a Waterloo Road headmistress has made a shocking confession.'

'Oh?' Audrey was glad of the distraction.

Tom leaned in. 'My third Head at the school was Rachel Mason, AKA Amanda Fenshaw and an, um, lady of the night, as Grantly used to say.'

Audrey's eyes went wide. '_No_! A _prostitute_ as Head?'

'Oh, she wasn't then,' Tom hurried to assure her. 'It was when she was young and desperate. The kids… the kids were remarkable,' he continued softly. 'That's why I've encouraged Christine to tell her story today. If our kids could accept _Rachel's_ past, they can certainly accept Christine's.'

'All the more so when the issue of rape has been brought home to them,' Audrey agreed soberly with a meaningful nod in the direction of Dynasty Barry, seated between Imogen and Kevin in front of them. 'Brave girl, coming to this.'

'Very brave,' Tom murmured, his handsome face turning grave.

Audrey could guess why. 'Is Kacey here?'

He turned to check. 'No, thank God. Lula and Harley are absent too.'

Audrey nodded. 'I'll wager that was Maggie. Sensible woman.'

Then they had to stop talking, for silence fell abruptly as Christine made her way down the central aisle to the stage, her heels clicking loudly on the polished floor. Audrey leaned forward to give Connor a supportive pat on the shoulder.

'Thank you, everyone,' Christine began, her low voice reaching easily to the back of the hall. She looked composed, standing ramrod straight behind her lectern, but Audrey could see that she clutched the lectern with a grasp that bordered on desperate, and her own fists clenched in sympathy.

'You all know why we are here now,' the Head said, her eyes roving the hall. 'For the past ten days or so rumours have been flying around this place. Rumours concerning me and my private life.' She stopped to take a sip of water; it was so quiet that they could hear the high clink of glass hitting wood when she replaced it. 'Normally, I would ignore them. We all know that schools love to gossip, staff as well as pupils, but this time… this time, I've decided to talk to you about it. Because this time, the rumours are true.'

A ripple ran through the audience, and Audrey's heart hurt when she saw young Connor's head droop forward. How he must be hating this!

'When I was twenty two, I went with my husband to his father's home,' Christine was saying steadily. 'While there, I was left alone in the house with my father in law, and he… he raped me. I could call it assault, I could say he attacked me, he hit me—I'm an English teacher, I know the words, words less emotive than _rape_. But it's important that you know how to call evil by its name, so I won't gloss over it. My father in law raped me.' She stopped, clearly struggling for control. No-one moved even a muscle; Audrey thought it was as if the entire hall held its breath.

'Why am I telling you this?' the Head went on. 'It's very simple. Statistics say that one in five—_one in five_, boys and girls—women will experience some form of sexual assault in their lifetimes. Worse, many of those women will know their rapist, just as I did. Rape does not just happen in dark alleyways, a crime committed by some pervert lurking in the night. It does not just happen to women who "ask for it"—as if anyone could! It happens in churches and schools, in offices, in posh flats and big houses as well as council blocks. It happens in relationships, within marriage; tragically, even within families. It happens every time an individual forces themselves sexually upon another. _Every time_, people! Consent must be freely and willingly given, or else it is not consent and then it is rape.'

Christine had seemed to grow in confidence as she spoke, her voice acquiring a resonance and flexibility that held the hall spellbound. Absurdly, Audrey experienced a pang of envy. In her forty years of teaching she had never succeeded in capturing an audience as thoroughly as Christine had just done, with nothing more than the power of her voice and the force of her personality.

'I'm telling you this because I want to challenge you, all of you,' Christine was saying. 'Rape is sometimes considered the last taboo; most women who are victims of rape never speak out, did you know that? In fact,' she went on, speaking more slowly, 'if I'm honest I kept quiet too. I carried that secret for nearly twenty years, and the first person who knew of it was Mr Byrne, only six months ago. That was wrong!' She thumped her lectern for emphasis and everyone jumped. 'It was wrong. If you, any of you, experience sexual assault or know that it has happened, then you _must_ speak out. Sexual offenders usually commit more than one offence. If you stay quiet, _you_ are giving them silent permission to hurt someone else. Do you think that's acceptable?' There was no response, the school believing this to be a rhetorical question, and Christine leaned over her lectern, her gaze intent. 'Come on, Waterloo Road. _Do_ you?'

'No!' Kevin Chalk shouted, leaping to his feet.

Everyone remained quiet; Audrey's hand twitched with the desire to reach forward and pull the teenager down into his seat, but something held her still.

'Come on, you lot,' Kevin urged, half turning to look at them. 'She's right, ain't she?'

'Yeah,' Dynasty Barry put in, rising in her own turn, her chin held high. 'An' I'm gonna come clean too. Miss isn't the only one who's been raped,' she went on, her eyes darkening. 'It's 'appened to me, 'an all, and the bastard who did it called 'imself me boyfriend.' Unbelievably, her lip quirked. 'Come on, girls. How many of you have let your man go all the way because he threatened to leave yah, or tell everyone you're a prude? How many of yah did it just 'cos you wanted some peace, like, y'know, lyin' back and thinking of England. I've been doin' some readin'. By law, that's rape too. Innit, Miss? Duress, they call it.'

Christine looked as stunned as Audrey felt, but Dynasty was on a roll.

'Are we gonna stay quiet?' she demanded. '_Are_ we? Or are we gonna show everyone how it's done, show the world that _we're_ not afraid to speak out?'

'Good God,' Tom murmured blankly into Audrey's ear as the students, led by Connor and Imogen, began to rise to their feet. 'Did you expect _this_?'

Audrey was shaking her head in disbelief. 'No… and neither, I'm sure, did Christine. Shall we?' They exchanged a smile and rose together, Tom beginning to clap, a clap that slowly rippled up and down the hall until the very rafters rang with its insistent rhythm.

Christine left, her jacket flying open with the swiftness of her movement. Audrey caught a glimpse of her face as she passed, and thought that the younger woman looked as though she was on the brink of tears—and who could blame her? The emotion in the hall was so strong it could nearly be tasted.

She leaned forward to tap Connor and the boy turned to look at her, his eyes glittering. 'Go to your mother. She'll want you.'

Connor nodded and left. Imogen tried to follow, but Audrey held her back after swapping glances with Tom. 'Not you, dear. Mr Clarkson and I want a word.'

**1.40pm, Crush Hall**

Connor felt as though he was watching from above as some puppet moved his body through the corridors. He was devoid of anything concrete enough to be described as thought or feeling, his feet propelling him forward seemingly of their own volition.

He was just passing through the deserted crush hall when a voice—a harsh male voice—brought him crashing back to himself, and he stopped, his pulse accelerating as he leaned against the wall to listen, protected from sight by the corner.

'…Congratulate you, Christine,' the voice was saying. 'That was an Oscar winning performance indeed.'

'It wasn't a performance,' his mother answered. He could tell she was trying to speak firmly. 'I meant it, every word was true. Come on, Simon,' she went on, trying for acerbity, 'd'you really think I'd lie about something as serious as r—rape?'

Connor's stomach contracted as he heard how she still fumbled over that word, but his mind was distracted by the suggestion inherent in her question. For a moment he found himself thinking, _what if_…? After all, no-one knew better than he what an accomplished liar his mother was—a skill she'd once attributed to him. It was true, he _was_ a good liar and a better actor, but he'd had to be. He'd literally imbibed those talents with his mother's milk. Was it possible that she—?

He banished the thought at once, guilt scorching through him for even entertaining it. Guilt also made him inch closer to the corner, alertness heightening as he realised that his mother was alone with a man who'd made his enmity plain.

'…About anything,' Lowsley sneered. 'You should've been on the stage. Never mind alcohol, it's attention you're addicted to. You'd do anything to get it, and you couldn't bear all the attention those Barry girls were getting, so you decided to steal their thunder with a noble sob story instead of trying to help them.'

Connor's jaw clenched. _That_ was a lie, without a doubt. He'd seen his mother's concern for Dynasty and Kacey for himself.

_Come_ on, _Mum_, he found himself silently urging. _Pop him one. Tell him where he gets off. I know you can do it—_

'I—' his mother tried, her voice catching audibly.

'Yes?' Simon's tone turned caressing, and Connor braced himself. 'I've rumbled you, haven't I, my dear? Now all you need to do is—'

Connor waited no longer. Simon's faux concern was raising the hairs on the back of his neck, and he dreaded to think what it was doing to his mother; the meaning of that little catch had dawned, and he realised that she was afraid. Terrified, even. Acting on instinct, he lifted a tennis racket someone had left leaning against the lockers and burst around the corner in time to see Simon move very close to Christine, caging her with his arms and forcing her against the wall.

'Connor, no!' his mother shouted, but it was too late.

He was beyond listening. He was beyond common sense. At that moment Simon Lowsley had become his mother's rapist, the root cause of all their troubles. He brought the wooden edge of the tennis racket down hard on Lowsley's head and watched in grim satisfaction as the older man staggered, allowing his mother to get away from him.

Two steps brought her to Connor's side. 'Son, what are you _doing_?!' She sounded aghast, her fingers digging deeply into his upper arms as she gripped him.

'Protecting you,' he returned fiercely. 'From _him_.'

Lowsley was leaning against the wall, holding his head. Most unnervingly, he began to laugh. 'Loyalty. Innit wonderful?' he mocked in an ear-piercing falsetto. 'He was protecting you, Christine. You were protecting him. And it's all been for nothing, because who's going to believe the word of an alcoholic and an arsonist when I have you done for _assault_?'

* * *

_Um. Yeah. I've complained before about what I call 'issue-fic' but I never will again. Two major issues is one chapter, three if you count Christine's alcoholism?! I hope I haven't bitten off more than I can chew, so please do let me know what you think of this as I'm anxious about whether it's worked. However, I do genuinely think there's a case for Kacey having or developing either an ED or BDD. I have more experience of the former so…! Again, if you are affected by ED either directly or indirectly, do seek help. This is one case where waiting-and-seeing can be downright dangerous. Oh, are people still ok with the pace of this? I'm aware that with the exception of the last chapter these installments are getting longer, and you might prefer something shorter/snappier. _


	12. Episode 3-4

_Thanks so much for the responses to the last chapter! I'm so glad you felt they worked, and that they rang true for those of you with personal experience of the issues in question. I'm often writing with limited internet access, so when that happens I'll reply to reviews here. PMs of course I'll answer personally._

_**I-wish-upon-falling-star**__s: LOL. Your wish is my command…_

_**loveistheprotection**__: Thank you! I hope this chapter and the next delivers! ;)_

_**Violet**__: Thank you! And please, if you think I veer away from accuracy do give me a shout. If I'm going to bring this stuff up, I want to try to do it justice. _

_**Anonymous Guest(s)**__: Thanks! _

_**lexie-rebecca**__: Glad you're enjoying it!_

_**CBurns1995**__: Yay! That's really encouraging. _

_**brightlightsbrighterdreams**__: Oh, thank you, that's a lovely thing to say. Hopefully I'll be able to keep it up. _

_This next chapter could have been one very long chapter, but it was more fun to break it up…. So don't go far, because this will updated again very quickly._

* * *

**1.40pm, Assembly Hall**

Imogen turned questioning eyes on Miss McFall and Mr Clarkson, worried by the serious expressions they bore.

'What is it?' she asked. 'Have I done somethin'?'

'No, no, it's not you at all,' Miss McFall told her with a smile that was a little too wide for Imogen's comfort. 'Mr Clarkson and I wanted, well, we wanted to ask if you… oh, dear, this is awkward!'

Realising that Miss McFall wasn't going anywhere, Imogen looked at Mr Clarkson. 'Sir?'

Before he could answer, Miss McFall said, 'Tom, perhaps we should leave it. This isn't….time.'

'Sir, Miss, I can lipread,' she pointed out. 'I know I'm terribly good at it yet, but I got that. Just tell me, please. You're makin' me nervous!'

Mr Clarkson nodded. 'I'm sure we are, Imogen. Sorry. And I'm sorry for what I'm about to ask. Let me add one thing,' he went on hurriedly as Imogen tried to speak, 'you're completely at liberty not to answer, got that?' Imogen nodded. 'OK, then. It's just this. Is Christine drinking again?'

'What? _No_!' Imogen was outraged at the suggestion. 'How can you ask that, sir? And Miss, you're supposed to be her friend. Some friend you are!'

'Calm down, dear,' Miss McFall interjected, patting her on the arm. Imogen twitched away from her, glaring, and the older woman sighed. 'Mr Clarkson and I are worried about your mother-in-law, that's all. We don't _really_ think she's drinking again, but she has been behaving… erratically and we just wanted to rule out the obvious.'

'Consider it eliminated right now,' Imogen snapped, still affronted. 'Connor an' I have been livin' with her. We'd know. _You'd_ know from more than just Christine. You know how much her drinkin' upsets Connor, and he's been himself, hasn't he?'

The elder pair exchanged a long glance, and Imogen was startled to see an immensely smug expression cross the History teacher's face.

'I knew I was right. I _knew_ it!' It was a muted squeal. 'Bless you, my dear. That leaves the way clear for us to investigate option number two.'

Thoroughly exasperated by all the mystery, Imogen folded her arms in unconscious imitation of her mother-in-law and raised a dark eyebrow. 'Which is?'

Mr Clarkson had been on his feet, his eyes roving the school. He sat down and leaned towards Imogen and Miss McFall, his brow creasing. 'We'd better move fast, Audrey,' he said in a low tone. 'If we're right…. And Simon's not here.'

'I'll tell Nikki,' Miss McFall told him as she rose. 'You go on. Quickly, Tom!'

Imogen frowned as the deputy head departed. 'Miss—'

Miss McFall looked down at her. 'Stay here,' she instructed gravely. 'Don't move until Miss Boston tells you. There's no point in you getting sucked into whatever Lowsley's up to. Promise?'

'But—'

Miss McFall put her hands on Imogen's shoulders and looked straight into her eyes. 'Promise!' she repeated urgently, and Imogen was left with no choice but to obey.

**1.50pm, Crush Hall**

Tom picked up his pace once the double doors of the assembly hall had closed behind him. He did not like how disquiet slithered in his belly; Christine was vulnerable just now, very vulnerable, and if Simon chose to capitalise on it… well, things could get ugly.

Perhaps they already had, he thought, his heart sinking as his brain registered the presence of voices coming from the direction of the corridor that ran past the Head's office. That sounded like Simon, and a triumphant Simon at that.

He jogged round the corner, hands clenching and unclenching as he mentally prepared for a fight. He'd have no qualms about thumping the smarmy git one if he'd threatened Christine in any way, he mentally assured himself—only to jerk to a stop, thoroughly discomfited by what the scene before him.

Simon had already been hit, from the look of it. He was leaning against the wall, a hand pressed to his head and a supremely satisfied look on his face. For a moment Tom wondered if Simon had contrived to injure himself in order to place the blame on Christine, but a glance at young Connor told him otherwise: the boy's normally pale complexion was ashen, and one hand clutched a tennis racket with a firmness Tom decided he did not like.

He turned to the boy's mother. She too was ashen, her hands clamped around Connor's upper arm in a death grip, and he crossed to her side in three steps.

'What the hell's happening here?'

'Well you may ask,' Simon answered, smirking. 'Clarkson, I need you to phone the police. I'm charging Mr Mulgrew here with assault, and the sooner he's off the premises the better. First arson and now attempted GBH—'

'You don't _look_ like you've suffered GBH—attempted or otherwise,' Tom interrupted coolly. His instinctive distrust of the other man was coalescing into something more definite. 'You don't _look_ like you've sustained anything worse than a very minor knock to the head. However. I suggest we get into your office, Christine. The rabble will be through here any second.'

Christine nodded, and Tom was relieved to see the colour begin to return to her face. 'Of course, Tom. Connor, I think you'd better go to the cooler while we sort this out,' she said, turning to her son.

Connor's eyes narrowed. 'No way, Mum. I'm staying with you.'

'Go on, mate,' Tom intervened with a glance at his watch. 'The bell for afternoon school's about to go, but I'm sure Miss McFall will excuse you for once. Get Imogen and the two of you can go and wait in the cooler. That'll give you a chance to calm down, h'mm?'

'I want to stay with Mum,' the boy insisted. His gaze moved to Simon. 'I don't trust him.'

'Do you trust me?' Tom queried, holding Connor's eyes with his own. After a long pause Connor nodded, the movement shouting reluctance, and Tom added, 'It's OK. I won't leave your mum alone.'

'I don't need a babysitter, ' Christine herself interjected, sounding almost but not quite her usual self. She moved to kiss her son on the cheek. 'We can't sort this out without you, but we all need to calm down first, OK? Now do as Mr Clarkson says—and don't worry!'

Somehow, she summoned a smile that reassured Connor sufficiently and the boy agreed to leave. As Tom watched him go he realised that his loyalty had shifted. He'd never been one to give personal loyalty quickly or easily; he'd eventually given it to each of the Heads he'd served, but he could clearly remember the point at which he'd chosen to follow that Head because of _who_ rather than _what_ they were. This was another such moment, the moment in which he finally ceased to consider Michael Byrne his boss, and it was reflected in his manner when he put his hand on Lowsley's shoulder and pushed him through Christine's office door.

The man reacted poorly, jerking away from Tom's touch. 'For God's sake, Clarkson, haven't I been manhandled enough for one day?' he demanded petulantly. 'First her son and now you!'

Tom was watching Christine out of the corner of his eye as she sat on her sofa, moving with a suddenness that indicated that her knees had given out. That told its own story and Tom's jaw hardened as he turned to Simon.

'Sorry.' His tone was facetious. 'You can't say you weren't warned. We're a bit rough around the edges here at Waterloo Road. Get over there and sit down.' He brushed past Simon on his way to the door and stuck his head into the outer office, surprising an obvious attempt at eavesdropping by the secretary.

She jumped. 'Oh, Tom!' she giggled, blushing a deep red. 'I was just—'

'Doesn't matter, Son,' he told her, deliberately using the shortened version of her name. He glanced back into the office and deemed it wise to enter Sonya's domain entirely, closing the door behind him. 'Listen, Christine's had a nasty experience with him in there. Can you get us a pot of tea? And get someone to find Kevin Chalk. I want to ask him a question.'

''Course,' Sonya responded staunchly, digging out the technicoloured notebook that had become very familiar to all the staff. 'I 'ope 'e gets what's comin' to 'im, I do,' she told Tom in an undertone as she flipped through the pages to find Kevin's timetable. ''E's a right piece of work, 'im. She looks done in every time she's been alone with him, and she'll never tell me why. Except,' she added thoughtfully, 'she did say something about 'im havin' her over a barrel, and using Connor to get to 'er—'

Tom cut her off with a fervent smacker on the cheek. 'You're a star, Son! Blackmail, it's gotta be. Now, if we can only prove it—'

Sonya rose, her smile broadening. 'Well, that's where our whizz-kid can help, innit?' she asked, flipping a page of her notebook with a finger. Then she was gone, leaving Tom smirking in his own turn as he prepared to re-enter the Head's office. One way or another, Simon Lowsley was going to be hoist with his own petard. He just didn't know it yet.

**2.15pm, Cooler**

Once the office door had closed behind her, Sonya slipped off her shoes. All the better to run with, she thought grimly as she hooked her fingers through the open backs; the faster something was done about that Lowsley chap the better. She'd worried about it for weeks, but what could she do? She wasn't wily or clever or brave or any of the things Lorraine was, but now she'd been given something constructive to do and she'd do it to the best of her limited ability.

She was panting hard by the time she reached the cooler; her girdle was too tight for running, and she wasn't much for exercise at the best of times. Lorraine was fit, choosing to spend hours every day in that pool of hers, but Sonya's preferred method of relaxation—when she didn't have the excitement of an affair to agonise over–involved soft PJs, fluffy slippers and a night in front of the telly. Not an activity guaranteed to ensure speed when one was rushing to the rescue of one's boss—or dignity in front of the kids, she thought ruefully as the quartette in the cooler stared as she struggled to regain control of her breathing.

Connor did not even wait for that. 'What are you doing here?' he demanded, his eyes hostile. 'I hope you haven't left my mum alone with that nutter—'

'Connor, _don't_,' Imogen pleaded, catching his arm, just as Sonya gave a long wheeze that ended with an indignant, 'I never! Mr Clarkson's wiv 'er now.'

The aggressive set of Connor's shoulders softened. 'Good. So?'

Sonya perched on the teacher's desk and looked at him. 'D'you know anything about what that Simon's been sayin' to your mum?'

Imogen's hands tightened on his arm as he shook his head. 'Mum doesn't talk shop at home. Much,' he added with a flicker of a smile.

''Course not,' Sonya muttered, disconcerted by this. She'd expected that Christine would at least have confided in her son, if not her daughter-in-law. 'Well, um, see, it's like this—'

'Just tell us,' Imogen advised, impatience shading her tone.

Sonya grasped the edges of the desk and leaned forward. ''E's blackmailin' her. With your future, Connor.'

She had not believed that Connor could go any whiter. She was wrong. 'So that's what he meant…' He broke away from Imogen and began to pace, moving as twitchily as an agitated grasshopper. 'She's gonna do something stupid,' he burst out at last. 'I know my mum. She blames herself for everything. If she thinks it'll save me she'll sacrifice herself without a second thought… We gotta do something!'

'How?' Imogen demanded, her eyes following him.

Sonya extended her fingers, examining her nails with their chipped polish. She was rather enjoying being the person with the ideas for once. 'I'll tell you 'ow. Your mate Kevin, there. He's a genius on the whatsits, ain't he?' She wiggled her fingers, as if typing on an invisible keyboard. 'You an' me, Kev, we're gonna pay a visit to security. An' we're gonna get proof. See, Michael had CCTV cameras put through the school after he got attacked by that mental boyfriend of Jade's last year. Crush hall and offices too,' she added with a deliberate wink at the flabbergasted teenagers. 'The office ones are usually off, confidentiality, you know, but I've got the controls for Christine's an' I've been keepin' 'em on. Give a man enough rope an' all that, 'cos I always knew that Simon fella was up to no good!'


	13. Episode 3-5

_All Christine, this time…._

* * *

**2.15pm, Head's Office**

Christine sat on her sofa, elbows on knees and her forehead resting against clasped hands. The clasp was necessary; her hands were shaking badly, and she did not want Simon to know how profoundly upset she was. Her mind was racing in circles, she felt like one of those animals that Lula was always shouting about, locked in a cage with nowhere to go…

'Here, take this,' Tom said, proffering a mug of tea.

She blinked up at him, awareness of her surroundings returning. A quick glance told her they were alone and the terror that had held her in its icy grip lessened a fraction. 'Simon?'

'I told him to go to my office,' Tom answered, looking down at her. 'Allow him to clear his head.'

Christine closed her eyes. 'That won't help,' she whispered. 'He'll be on the phone, calling the police. Stop him, Tom, please. I'll do anything you want, I'll resign, I'll walk away, I'll recommend you for Head, or Simon or anyone you like, but please _please_ don't let him call the police—'

''Ey, 'ey, slow down,' Tom cautioned as he took a seat next to her. Her breath caught at his proximity, and he noticed. 'Am I too close?'

She nodded. 'I'm sorry,' she said, forcing the apology through stiff lips. 'It's stupid—'

'It's not,' Tom insisted, shuffling away from her so that he was perched on the sofa arm. Fortunately it was the flat kind. 'Better? And don't say you're sorry again!'

'Yes. Yes.' She tried to breathe, to get the panic to recede. 'OK, it's OK, I'm fine now… but you've got to understand, he mustn't phone the police. Connor's on a suspended sentence as it is—'

'So Connor _did_ attack Simon?' Tom sounded surprised. 'Let me guess, with the tennis racket?'

'He was provoked,' Christine defended. 'It was my fault, I had to get out of hall, I didn't expect Kevin and Dynasty to speak up like that and it was just too much. I thought I could take a breather and go back in but Simon followed me out. He caught me. Well, trapped me. I don't think—I _know_,' she amended, trying to speak firmly, 'that he wouldn't have hurt me, but just then… _God_. And we were talking about flashbacks only this morning!'

'And Connor came along and saw the whole thing,' Tom supplied grimly. 'No wonder he flipped his lid. I'd've done the same thing—and I'd have done a damned sight more damage than he did, I can tell you that.'

Christine stared. 'Would you? Would you really?'

He looked hurt. ''Course. What do you take me for?'

She bit deeply into her lip. 'I don't know. I don't what I take anyone for these days. Michael—'

Tom huffed. 'To use the language of the incomparable Fanny Burney, Michael was a bounder and a cad.'

Christine glanced at him sideways. 'Hmm. While from what I've heard, you're the knight in shining armour who rushes to the rescue of damsels in distress?'

This time it was Tom's turn to stare, his blue eyes going round. 'Er… maybe,' he admitted sheepishly. '_Rushing_ being the operative word there.'

They shared a laugh. It was awkward and a little damp in Christine's case, but it was still a laugh.

'Don't worry about Simon's threats,' Tom told her, turning serious. 'Hot air, believe me. And if it isn't… well, we've got a plan.'

'You do? Tom, what—'

He put a gentle finger on her lips to quiet her, and the unthreatening contact made tears spring to her eyes once again. That was the hardest part of Michael's departure, the being alone, having no-one to shelter her. Connor tried, bless him, but he was only a boy.

'Do you trust me?' Tom asked, just as he'd asked Connor earlier, and she nodded. He smiled. 'Good. You're part of this place now, Christine Mulgrew, and we won't let you go so easy. Let Simon go to the police if he wants.' He gave a snort of disgust. 'I don't think he's even got a bump on the head to prove his claims. A tennis racket isn't heavy enough to do much harm—or Connor didn't give it enough welly.'

Christine surprised herself by giving a spluttered laugh. 'I suppose it was the only thing Connor could grab. Thank God it wasn't a hockey stick.'

'Pity it wasn't a hockey stick, you mean, we'd've got rid sooner,' Tom corrected, and Christine found she was returning his sly grin. '_That's_ better,' he continued. 'Now, I've sent Sonya for the young people, and Simon's due to return when the bell goes for lesson six. One way or another, this is all gonna be thrashed out by the end of the day.'

The reassurance was all she needed. She passed him her mug, using her free hand to flip the ends of her hair over her jacket collar. 'It's just about half past now,' she observed with a glance at the office clock.

'Yep. You ready?'

Her lips quirked. 'As I'll ever be.'

'And no more talk of resigning?'

She gave him a long, considering look as she rose to her feet, hands going to pull the front of her jacket down in a gesture that had come to indicate that she meant business. 'I promise you: if Simon wants me out, he'll have to drag me through that front door by the hair.'

'And that,' Tom said gravely as she brushed said hair behind her ears, 'would be a shame.'

Her answer was a slowly blossoming smile.

**2.30pm, Head's Office**

Christine had just seated herself behind her desk when the bell rang for the last lesson of the day, and she clenched her hands in her lap and waited for the others to arrive. She felt sick with anxiety, struggling to keep her breath even, for while Tom's support was much appreciated it didn't serve as any kind of guarantee. Simon was a slippery customer, she was sure of that, and she wasn't convinced that someone as straightforward as Tom Clarkson would be able to outwit him, no matter how good his intentions.

All the same, she was genuinely unprepared when Tom opened the door to admit not only her son, but her daughter-in-law together with their respective partners in crime, Kevin Chalk and Dynasty Barry—never to mention Sonya, whose expression could only be likened to that of a cat who'd got into an entire vat of cream.

'Guys, what are all of you doing here?' Christine asked, half-rising. 'This is serious, Connor! You can't bring half the school—'

'It wasn't him, it was me, boss,' Sonya put in. 'Connor 'as to be 'ere. Imogen's here 'cos he is, 'cos she's 'is wife, innit, and Kev hasta be 'ere too, so 'course Dynasty had to come along for the ride.'

'Yeah, plus I want to see that Lowsley nutter get what's comin' to 'im,' Dynasty supplied just as Simon himself entered. Christine gave an inward groan; he could not possibly have missed that, and if she let it go Simon would transform it into another stick to beat her with.

She gave a nervous laugh. 'Thanks for the support, Dynasty, but this isn't a spectator sport. Go back to class, go on. You too, Imogen. Sonya, are you sure Kevin needs to be here?'

Sonya was still looking smug. 'You betcha, boss. You keep 'im 'ere, you won't regret it.'

'I told Sonya to fetch him,' Tom put in at that point, and Christine threw her hands up.

'All right. Fine. Kevin stays.'

'What if _I_ don't like it?' Simon asked with a sneer. 'I don't want anyone here apart from Tom, Connor and yourself, Christine.'

'Tough. Kevin and Sonya are staying,' Tom told him curtly as he held the door for the reluctant girls. 'Get moving, you two. You'll hear all about it later.'

There was a long, awkward silence once the office door had closed behind Imogen and Dynasty. Christine dropped back into her seat, uncertain of what to do or say; Connor's eyes were hooded, Kevin's jaw was square, Sonya's complacency was tangible—as was Simon's still, and Tom…

'Sit down, everyone,' the deputy head ordered. 'Connor, what happened this afternoon?'

'Why are you asking him?' Simon exploded. 'I'm the victim here!'

'We know what _you_ claim happened, ' Tom snapped. 'You haven't shut up about it since.'

Simon's eyes narrowed. 'Why, you little… ' His eyes went from Christine to Tom and back. 'Oh-ho, I get it. Are you screwing her, is that it? Honestly, Clarkson, I'd've thought you could do better—'

Tom's response was to collar the other man, his hands twisting into his collar and choking off further speech. 'That's _enough_,' he forced through his teeth. 'Another word from you, and we'll be talking actual rather than attempted bodily harm, man. And believe me, _I_ won't pull any punches!' He jerked Simon, hard, and released him.

Simon clutched his throat. 'You heard him! He threatened me, you're all witnesses.'

Christine clasped her hands in front of her on the desk and studied them. It was time for a kind of wild justice. 'Really? I didn't see anything that looked like a threat.'

Connor's head snapped up, a cold smile tugging at one corner of his mouth. 'Or me.'

'I'll serve as a witness OK, but not for you, Lowsley!' Sonya spat. 'You're scum, you are!'

Simon's eyes skittered wildly around the room. 'W–what d'you mean?'

'Give it up,' Tom told him, coming to stand next to Christine. 'I know what you're up to.'

Christine glanced up at him, startled. 'Tom—'

He did not look at her. He was looking at Kevin. 'Who's going to explain? You or Sonya.'

'Him, of course,' Sonya put in hurriedly. 'I don't understand the 'alf of it.'

'It's perfectly simple,' Kevin began, extracting his mobile from his pocket. 'Sonya told us about the CCTV cameras and she took us to see her mate the porter; we told him we needed to see the footage from this afternoon. It's right here,' he added, holding up his smartphone, 'and just to make sure, I've copied it to multiple locations on the server and on my personal cloud. It's safe from you,' he informed Simon. 'All the cold, hard evidence we need. You deliberately intimidated Mrs Mulgrew in a way you knew she'd find terrifying, at a time when you knew she'd be vulnerable. We all heard what she said in that hall, we're all witnesses to that. I don't blame Connor socking you one, any of us'd've done the same. Any decent person would. You're scum, you're not even worthy to be compared with pond slime, I hope they lock you up—'

'OK, Kevin, stick to the point,' Tom interrupted.

'Yeah, sorry,' Kevin said, not sounding at all sorry. 'So we did more digging. We looked at the footage showing you with Mrs M here in the office. And every time we found evidence of blackmail. I saved that too. So, _sir_, if you wanna call the police, you go right ahead. We'll have something very interesting to show 'em!'

Christine drew a long, shuddering breath against a backdrop of splutterings and broken protests from Simon. It was over. She knew then that Simon Lowsley would never scare her again; she'd been a fool for not trusting her school, her staff, enough to tell them what was going on. It was not a mistake she would make again, she vowed internally—and in the meantime, she had to retake her school, to assert her own authority as Head.

'Well, Simon?' she asked, looking directly at him. He looked smaller, somehow, hunched over his seat like a rebellious pupil who'd just been found out. 'Do you still want to pursue this?'

Her voice seemed to revive him. He straightened, dark eyes as venomous as ever. 'I was only trying to protect the school.'

'Bollocks,' Tom said flatly. 'We can protect the school perfectly well.'

'From _her_?' Simon broke in. 'Face it, man. She's an alkie!'

'_Recovering_ alcoholic, actually,' Christine put in coolly. 'I'm going to my meetings. Besides, I told you: my alcoholism is not a secret to my staff.'

'Yeah, and d'you know what?' Tom added, leaning towards the younger man. 'When the news of Christine's appointment was announced, not one pupil or member of staff queried it. Not one. Certainly not on those grounds. I think that speaks for itself. No, mate. Waterloo Road doesn't need protecting from Christine—but from what I've seen and heard today, it sure as hell needs protecting from you!'

Christine rose. Her trembling had subsided; she was once again in full control of herself and Tom's words had given her an idea.

'Tit for tat, Mr Lowsley,' she said, her voice deceptively soft. 'You go quietly. You phone the council and you tell them that you're sorry, but you don't think Waterloo Road's the right place for you. You tell them that this school is in capable hands, and that this headmistress can choose her own deputies, thank you very much. You tell them that and you get yourself posted as far away from here as you can. Because if I hear that you've been whispering poison about me, my son, or my school again, _I_ will be on the phone to the GTC.' She stopped to take a breath, her eyes going to rest on Connor. 'I know I'm not perfect, but I've paid for my personal and professional sins and believe me, I will go _on_ paying. If I have to, I'll make sure you pay too. Do you understand me?'

Tom leaned over the desk to pick up the cordless phone. He handed it to Simon.

'Call them now,' he ordered. 'While we're all watching.'

Simon swallowed and took the phone, dialling with agonising slowness.

'Don't think you can get out of it either,' Kevin told him, his teeth clicking as he bit the words out. 'I've hacked the phone lines. If you try any tricks like… oh, I dunno, phoning the Chinese, I'll know.'

After that, it was done quickly. Simon made the call. Tom stood over him while he wrote a letter of resignation, and Sonya called the porter to escort him from the premises. Once the door had closed behind Simon Lowsley for the last time, everyone heaved a united sigh of relief.

Christine embraced her son. 'Thank God that's over.'

He squeezed her in return. 'Yeah. Mum, you're an idiot. Why didn't you tell me he was threatening you?'

She hugged him again. 'I couldn't risk it. I couldn't risk your future, son.'

He drew back. 'Hey, I'm a big boy now. You don't need to sacrifice yourself for me, got it?'

She looked up at him. He was nearly two inches taller than she was, she noted. 'Yeah, I do,' she murmured. 'I always will. This isn't about guilt, Connor, I swear. I know I've been crap at it for most of your life, but I'm still your mum.'

'She's a parent,' Tom put in. 'She's just doing what any decent parent does, Connor, as you'll find out yourself some day.'

'For God's sake, Tom, don't give him ideas!' Christine interjected swiftly. 'I'm not ready to be a grandmother just yet!' The atmosphere lightened as everyone laughed, and she turned to Kevin. 'Kevin, thank you for what you've done today. Thank you from the bottom of my heart. We owe you, Connor and I.' He gave a jerky nod, but there was something hungry in his eyes and it didn't take a genius to work out what it was. She drew him into a quick hug as well. 'Come to ours tonight, hmm? You and Dynasty—unless you've got something else planned?' He shook his head and she smiled. 'Good, that's settled. Pizza and cards it is.'

Connor smirked. 'Yeah, Kev. What she really means is she's gonna try to bribe you to be on her team because she's totally crap at it. She never wins.'

'Less of your cheek, young man,' Christine told him with mock sternness as the boys high-fived each other, chortling like a pair of Year 7s. 'We're still in school and I'm still your headmistress. Speaking of which, there's another ten minutes before the bell, isn't there. See if you can get to History in time for Miss McFall to give you your homework. Go!'

They groaned and complained, but went. She leaned against the door to close it, her gaze going to the one other remaining occupant of the room.

'Tom—' She couldn't continue.

He came to stand before her. 'Hey. Don't mention it.'

She blinked away a film of new tears. 'OK, I won't then. See you tomorrow?'

'Wouldn't miss it,' he told her with a grin.

She stepped away from the door to let him pass, and he paused with one hand on the handle. 'Christine—'

'Hmmm?'

'Fancy a coke at the pub? Something to sustain you for your night with the kids?' He sounded almost shy.

It was ridiculous to blush, but his shyness triggered hers. 'Yeah. Yeah, sure. Twenty minutes?'

'I'll see you then,' he promised. 'Looking forward to it.'

'Yeah, me too,' she whispered as he departed. 'Me too.'

* * *

_And at long last, we've reached the end of Episode Three! What do you people think of the evolving Tom/Christine thing? As I said back in 1-1, I didn't set out to pair Christine with anyone, it's just sorta … happened. And let's face it, it's better than killing him off! I'm still undecided how seriously to pursue it, so it will partly depend on you. If you want them to remain friends, say so. Friends with UST, say so… or move towards an actual relationship—well, you know the drill!_

* * *

**NEXT TIME:**

**It's a new start for Christine and the school, and she's brimming with ideas for the Sixth Form—but the staff are unconvinced. In the background, Dynasty and Jasmine move towards open enmity and Kacey gets caught in the crossfire…**


	14. Episode 4-1

_A/N: New episode, new(ish) story arcs! I hope you like the turns the story takes from here; this first part is pretty slow, but I promise you, it's to set up stuff that comes in the next parts and episodes, so bear with me. Please, please tell me what you think; I tend to find that my motivation levels start to drop around the 30,000 word mark, so I really do need you to be reviewing, commenting, criticising, throwing ideas out etc to keep me going. _

_Speaking of which, HUGE thanks to __**I-wish-upon-falling-stars**__ for reviewing both of the last parts, even though they were posted within 24 hours of each other. It's always amazing to get reviews, but those two really gave me a boost. Thanks also go to __**CBurns1995**__, __**Jessiekat22**__ and the aforesaid __**I-wish-upon-falling-stars**__ for letting me know what they think of the possibility of Tom/Christine, and to __**Lily**__ for chucking an idea into the ring! Always great to get, because ideas and comments keep me thinking which=more plots=more story. _

_So without further ado… let's get going with Episode Four!_

* * *

**7.00am, Mulgrew Household**

''Morning. No Connor, then?'

Imogen turned to grin at her mother-in-law as she munched through a slice of toast. It was done just as she liked it, slightly charred around the edges and smothered in honey. 'Nope. Last I saw he was still complainin' about the hour. He really doesn't do mornings, does he?'

Christine gave her a rueful smile. 'Not just him. Any more toast going there?'

'Sure. I was doin' these for Connor, but—' Imogen shrugged as she expertly extracted a couple of slices of toast from the Mulgrews' ancient toaster and plopped them on a plate. 'He's dallyin' that much he can get his own.'

'Oi, I heard that,' Connor himself said as he entered, hair still spiked from sleep and the belt of his dressing gown trailing on the floor. 'FYI, I was late 'cos I was looking for this.' He reached into one of his capacious pockets and withdrew a small package that he waggled in mid-air. 'Here you go. Happy birthday, Mum!'

Imogen glared at her husband. '_Birthday_? Why didn't y'ever say? I'm so sorry, Christine, if I'd known—'

'It's OK,' Christine assured her with a smile. 'I don't like making a fuss of my birthday.'

'I know you don't and this year you should,' Connor told her as he stole a half-slice of toast from Imogen's plate. 'Lots of stuff to celebrate this time. You getting sober. Me and Imogen. The school. Getting rid of Simon. _A-a-and_,' he ended dramatically while Imogen giggled, 'you've hit the big four-oh.'

'That just makes it worse,' Imogen grumbled, giggles dying at this revelation. 'Christine, I really am sorry.'

'Hey, it wasn't your fault,' Christine said. 'It was Connor's. So, son, what are you inflicting on me this time?' She eyed the parcel in her hand with suspicion.

'Just open it and see,' Connor responded, grinning down at Imogen. 'And Im, it really is sort of from both of us. I'm sorry I didn't tell you.'

Imogen was as eager to see what lay behind the brown paper wrappings as her mother-in-law. She hovered as Christine removed string and paper while Connor watched like a hawk. Finally, the last bit of paper was lifted away and Imogen gasped.

Connor had created a small tile painted with tiny portraits of himself and Imogen flanking a larger one of Christine in the centre. The border was decorated with tiny flowers and intertwined letters that made up the word 'family' over and over again.

'Did you do this?' Imogen asked, seeing that her mother-in-law was rendered speechless. 'It's gorgeous!'

Connor looked sheepish. 'It's not totally handmade,' he confessed. 'The portraits are based on transfers I made from the photos you took of me and Mum a few weeks ago. That was your contribution,' he added before continuing with, 'and the tile already had some of the flowers and stuff on it. I just… added to it. D'you like it, Mum?' He sounded anxious.

'_Like_ it?' Christine repeated incredulously. 'Oh Connor!' She hugged him, drew back to look at him, said something that Imogen thought sounded like 'idiot boy' and hugged him again. 'I don't deserve you,' she told him. She held out her hand to Imogen and pulled her into their embrace. 'Or you.'

''Course you do,' Imogen said as they separated. 'Connor's right. We _are_ a family, aren't we?'

'Yeah. Yeah, we are.' Christine's face split in a wide smile. 'And this family is going to be late for school if we don't get a move on… hold on!' she ended as Imogen took the hint along with Connor's hand and began to draw him from the kitchen. 'There's something I wanted to ask you.'

Connor smirked and folded his arms. 'Here it comes. Well, ask away. You're the birthday girl, aren't you?'

Imogen felt a prickle of unease when Christine did not respond to his raillery. Instead, she said, 'Connor's right. This is a special birthday. New decade, new start, new life.' She stopped to give them a strained smile. 'New start in school as well now that Simon's gone. There's going to be several changes coming, changes that could mean upheaval for you. Can I count on your support?'

Connor did not even hesitate. 'You don't need to ask,' he promised. 'We're beside you all the way!' He kissed his mother's cheek and began to lead Imogen towards the bathroom.

She followed blindly. She could not shake the feeling that they'd come out of one tumultuous period and were poised to dive into another. Given Waterloo Road's track record the prospect was enough to make anyone quail.

She sighed. Why couldn't life just be easy?

**7.30am, Greenock Care Home**

'Jasmine! Get a move on, girl, you're going tae be late!'

Jasmine grimaced at the mirror that hung over the sink in the dingy room she called hers. 'I'm comin', Miss. Just doin' me hair.'

'There's no time fer that!' The voice on the other side of the door sounded cross. 'I've just heard from your social worker. You're movin' oot.'

Jasmine dropped her brush into the sink and almost flew across the room to the door, wrenching it open with a violence that little for its longevity. 'Did they let Steve out?'

The thin older woman looked down her long nose. 'Don't be stupid, girl. It's no' likely, is it? No, he's banged oop and that's where he'll stay—at least til the trial's done. No, it's that new 'eadteacher of yours. She's asked that you be transferred to Waterloo Road's School House.'

Jasmine clutched at her bony arm. 'What? But she can't! I don't want to. Please, miss, I know I've given you loads of bother but if you'll let me stay here I _promise_ I'll behave, really I will.'

The woman sniffed. 'Aye, an' I came doon with the last rain, so I did. I won't pretend, Jasmine Maguire. I'll be glad tae see the back o' you and them good-for-nuthins that always seems to be 'anging aboot since ye came. None o' yer greetin', girl. Just go and pack yer things. The social worker'll be here for ye at eight on the dot, so mind you're ready.'

She closed the door firmly, cutting off any further protest the girl might make, and Jasmine gave vent to her feelings by kicking it hard. As her feet were unshod it hurt more than a little, and she moaned as she hopped back to bed to curl up and wait for the pain to subside.

What was Mrs Mulgrew up to? Jasmine hated being in care, but she'd a feeling that she'd hate being in the School House more, surrounded as she would be by her classmates every moment of the day and night. She'd been at the school for more than two terms now and she still didn't have a proper friend—not a single one. Her Headmistress could not have thought of anything more disagreeable if she'd tried all year—and then some.

Then there was that bit of unpleasantness with Dynasty Barry. Jasmine _had_ sent those text messages, and she'd sent them gladly. Pete had told her that she was helping Steve, and helping Steve was the one thing she wanted to do. She'd been so sure that this time he'd stay out of prison because he'd promised, hadn't he? He'd promised to stay out of trouble and make a home for her, himself and Dynasty back in Liverpool. They'd be something like a proper family.

And then the dream was shattered and it was all Dynasty's fault. And the others had sided with Dynasty, hadn't they? Even the teachers. No-one saw her for the lying little skanky slut she really was. Jasmine's mouth pressed into a thin line as she left her bed, limping, and began to throw her few possessions into an old rucksack. Maybe there were some advantages to being in the School House after all. She could tell the others the truth about Dynasty, couldn't she? They'd listen. They'd have to.

**8.20am, Staff Room**

Christine took an involuntary step back when her entry to the staff room was heralded by a rash of applause and the odd cheer. Even George Windsor was smiling—albeit sardonically—and Audrey was a wide beam as she clapped.

'What's all this?' Christine asked blankly. 'Not that it's not nice to be greeted so enthusiastically, but—'

Audrey stepped forward, bearing a box-like shape wrapped in gaudy paper. 'It has been brought to our attention by a reliable source—a _very_ reliable source,' she added with a twinkle, 'that you have reached a certain age today. We couldn't let it pass. This is from all of us, Christine, with our best wishes.'

Christine was utterly taken aback. She stammered her thanks, opened the box, and gushed appropriately at the chocolates contained therein. They had even thrown in a bottle of non-alcoholic wine, she noted with a wince. It was a nice thought, but…!

'That was me,' George Windsor pointed out complacently, flicking the bottle with a finger. 'Couldn't have you going completely dry on your fortieth, could we?' He winked and nudged her, and Christine was relieved when Audrey, mouthing apologies, dragged the tactless and oblivious George back to the seating area.

'Thank you very much, everyone, thank you,' she called, allowing her tone to become edged. 'However, time's marching on for everyone, not just me, and we've got a lot to get through this morning. If we could make a start?' The staff took the hint and quietened, allowing Christine to nod towards Tom. 'Tom's got some sheets he's going to hand round now; they're a more detailed run through of the changes I'm going to announce. If you would, Tom… thanks.' She had to resist the urge to fiddle with her cuffs; now, more than ever, she had to appear calm and confident, a headmistress in control of herself and her school.

Unfortunately for that, exclamations began to rise as some members of staff skimmed through the sheet faster than others.

'_More_ kids in the School House? How's that going to work?' someone demanded from the back. 'Maggie can't take any more—'

'Are we getting more staff?'

Over and above that came George Windsor's plaintive, 'Chrissie darling, please tell me this is a mistake. Tell me you're not even _contemplating_ handing power and responsibility into the unregenerate hands of Barry Barry and his gang—'

'All right people, calm down,' Christine ordered. Out of the corner of her eye she saw Nikki's mouth twitch, and for a moment she wished she could rewind the clock. Perhaps Nikki was right when she said that this was too much, too soon… She caught Tom's eye and he gave her a tiny, heartening nod. 'If you'll all settle down and listen I'll explain,' she continued in her classroom tone. It worked just as well on adults as it did on the kids; after a few moments of shuffling and muttering she had her staff's full attention.

'To answer the last comment first: yes, George, we're going to be introducing prefects and head prefects. Our young people need a taste of responsibility and this is the best way. Look it as a cross-curricular initiative; they'll _all_ be encouraged to send a formal letter of application that will be followed by an interview before we, the staff, make a decision. That's careers, English, communication and ICT right there!'

'And the Head Boy and Head Girl appointments?' Audrey asked, while beside her George smirked in a way that made Christine yearn to slap him.

'The school votes on those,' she informed them. 'Now there's no need for any panic,' she added quickly as murmurs rose, 'only prefects can stand. We'll keep control of the whole process, people, I promise you.'

'Famous last words,' George muttered, all too audibly, and once again Christine had to repress the urge to hurt him.

'We'll see, won't we,' she responded sharply, before continuing with, 'Come _on_! This is a fantastic opportunity for the kids, it'll look great on their CVs and university applications. We owe it to them to support them in this, yeah?'

'Hmmmm,' George said noncommittally, sliding down in his seat and giving her the evil look that she remembered from her days as an NQT—but she was no longer that girl, and she carried on.

'Next, the School House. This is a _very_ limited expansion, people. At the moment we have thirty kids in homes; of that number only ten are in long term care. Those are the kids this idea is targeted at, and there's enough capacity in the School House at the moment to take them. Those pupils are our responsibility, and we're going to shoulder it.'

'And don't worry about Maggie,' Tom chipped in. 'We're advertising for a new full time Head of House. Maggie will continue, she says, but obviously in a part time capacity until… well, you know,' he added awkwardly. 'Anyway, there are five empty beds in the School House that will be filled _tonight_, and we need a _pro tem_ House parent immediately. We thought you'd ask you first. I should note,' he continued with a grin, 'that even though it's short term _and_ on short notice the volunteer will get a very nice bonus on their salary. However, they will be required to live-in, so bear that in mind.'

Even with that offer thrown in, the staff room went still. Everyone seemed eager to avoid everyone else's eyes, and Christine's heart sank. These plans would not work without staff support, and while she, Tom and Maggie could do a certain amount in the School House, the kids really needed a second adult who could be there full-time. Tom had offered, but Christine hated to ask or expect that of him; he had enough on his plate as it was between his teaching duties and the deputy headship.

'I'll do it,' Audrey said suddenly, her voice cutting through the silence. She flushed as the staff turned its collected gaze on her. 'I mean it, Christine. If it'll help, I'll do it.'

'Are you sure, Audrey?' Christine asked, as qualms began to bubble below the surface. She was deeply fond of the older woman, but with the best will in the world Audrey all too often made bad situations worse. 'It's going to pretty demanding, you know, and you've already got a full teaching load.'

Tom did not seem share her reservations, for he was already saying, 'That's great Audrey, thanks, we'll need to talk the details over with you.' Audrey looked delighted and Tom cut off any further effusions or comments by reminding them that the bell was about to go.

Christine nodded, glad of the distraction. 'Indeed. All right, everyone, that's it for now. That bit of paper you've all got there has more detail,' she called above the rising din, 'and if you've got any questions or concerns please don't hesitate to talk to myself, Tom or Nikki.'

She turned to leave, and found Audrey at her elbow.

'I'm serious,' Audrey said again, gently tapping Christine's forearm for emphasis. 'I really do think I can do this, you know. In fact,' she continued, her twinkling eyes lighting up her lined face, 'I think I'm looking forward to it. I'm free this afternoon; perhaps I could nip home and collect a few things? Be all settled by the time school finishes?'

Christine forced a smile. 'Absolutely, Audrey. You do that. All the best!' she added as her friend gave a little wave and danced towards the other door.

It would be fine, she told herself. Just fine. Audrey couldn't mess it up that much. Maggie would be there, never to mention Tom. She was making a mountain out of a molehill.

Wasn't she?

* * *

_So what did you think, especially of the OC? Couldn't resist the idea of Audrey as house mother/care staff. She'd want to interfere in the most well-meaning way imaginable… and it'd end up blowing up in her face because it ALWAYS DOES. Too good an opportunity to miss!_

_Oh yeah. Vital point. I write pretty quickly and sometimes I don't proof-read as well as I should. If you see any of the following literary sins, point them out: typos, repetitions, missing words, idiot sentences…._


	15. Episode 4-2

_A/N: Thank you for the reviews, people! Everyone seems to agree Audrey would be amazing(ly bad, potentially) as housemother, so hopefully there'll be a little humour along with the angst at some point. There's also some cautious support for Tom/Christine, so I'll let that develop naturally….ie, slowly._

_I had originally thought this chapter might be shorter than the last, but perhaps not…As always, do say if you think the pace is dropping, but I hope you enjoy the direction this is taking. _

_**dustdancingintheflickerlight**__, I see there are some similarities between this and Trial, which I re-read last night. However, you've taken a different slant with it so I _think_ it's ok?_

_Oh, and note there is a **trigger alert** on this chapter._

* * *

**9.30am, Mr Clarkson's room**

Imogen was scribbling industriously, but from what Dynasty could see she was working on her English coursework rather than the application letter Mr Clarkson had told them to try. She nudged her friend, a suspicion growing.

Imogen looked up.

'What'cha doin'?' Dynasty hissed, indicating Imogen's file block with her pen. 'That looks like English to me.'

Imogen's eyes dropped. 'So what if it is?'

'Aren't you applyin' for this prefect thing?' Dynasty demanded. 'You should. You'd be dead good.'

'Don't be daft,' Imogen returned crossly. 'With my hearin'? The kids'd run riot. I'm not safe to be left in charge of them.'

'Uh-uh.' Dynasty waggled her pen in negation. 'I'm not the one bein' daft, it's you. Oh, come on, Imogen! It'd be wicked. Me an' you, tellin' the kids what do an' all. Can't be any worse'n runnin' around after them two,' she ended, her thumb jabbing backwards from where she could hear Kevin and Connor squabbling over which of them would be Head Boy.

Imogen still looked dubious and Dynasty sighed. 'Look 'ere, instead of thinking about what you _can't_ do as a prefect, you should be thinkin' about what you _can_ do. This is about bein' a role model, like. If you get it, you'll show the kids that if you're determined, nothin' can stop you.'

'Wise words, Dynasty,' Mr Clarkson put in, and the girls jumped, not having noticed his approach. 'Imogen, you'd listen to her. We're expecting you to apply, you know. I hope you're not going to disappoint us.'

Someone jabbed Dynasty in the back, and she turned to glare at the culprit. ''Ey, what'd you do that for?'

Connor gave her a grin that lay somewhere between tentative and cocky. 'Tell Imogen she's gotta do it. All four of us will. Imagine, we could run the school! Mulgrews rule, eh?'

Dynasty sniffed. 'Don't flatter yourself, mate. Us Barrys can run rings around you Mulgrews any time _and_ we have Kevin. Quit while you're ahead, eh?' She tossed her hair triumphantly over her shoulder and turned to look at Imogen. 'Did you get that?'

Imogen nodded, her eyes sparkling with amusement. 'Gist of it, anyway. OK.' Her eyes moved back to the teacher. 'OK, sir, I'll do it. If you're sure.'

'I am,' Mr Clarkson told her with a smile. 'Now that's settled, Sonya's just sent a note to say that all four of you are wanted in the Head's office.'

'Wow! D'you mean she's seen the light, sir?' Kevin asked as the girls turned to look at him with an exchanged glance of rolled eyes. 'She's decided to ditch this application thingy, hasn't she, and do the only sensible thing and that's appoint us four at once. Sorted! Head Boy, Head Girl, and two deputies. Done! High five, man!' and he and Connor smashed their hands together with muted whoops that drew glowers from the rest of the class.

'Idiots,' Dynasty told them scornfully as she rose to her feet, sweeping her file block and pencil case into her bag with a single comprehensive movement. 'Sorry, sir. We'll get goin' and get thes'uns outta your hair. Come on, Im.'

She turned quiet as they made their way along the deserted corridors to Mrs Mulgrew's office. The others were talking and laughing and teasing about this whole prefect thing, but Dynasty had already forgotten it. The trial was coming up; she'd done her best to push all thought of it out of her mind, but her body knew: it was alert and tense, her mouth dry and her palms clammy. Nor was she reassured by the sight of Sonya peeking round the doorframe, watching for them. She wouldn't do that if this was just routine.

'In you come, kids!' the secretary greeted, ushering them in. She gave Dynasty a pat on the shoulder as they went past, but the girl was not comforted, her anxiety lifting another notch when Sonya started asking them how they wanted their tea.

Before they could answer, Mrs Mulgrew came into the outer office, bearing a pile of papers that she dropped on Sonya's desk. 'Hi, guys. Do you want to come in? Sonya, did I hear you say something about tea?'

'That you did, boss, but I don't know—'

'Oh, of course. Three white, one black with a spoon of sugar, and coffee for me. Come on, Dynasty.' The Head put her hand on Dynasty's shoulder and pushed her gently through the door; the other three had already entered as ordered, but Dynasty's legs had turned to water and kept her still.

'Sit here,' the Head went on quietly as she drew Dynasty to the sofa just inside the door. 'Connor, Imogen, shove up and make room for a little one.'

'Oh, that's no bother, Miss, she'll be fine here!' Kevin interjected before the younger Mulgrews could obey. He reached out to grab Dynasty's wrist and pull her gently onto his lap and she gave a tiny gasp as she fell back, but his arms had already stolen around her waist, steadying and enfolding her in their warmth.

Mrs Mulgrew was looking uncertain. 'Is that—?'

'I'm OK here, Miss, really,' Dynasty told her quickly, her hands going to cover Kevin's. 'Please don't make me move.'

'Fine,' Mrs Mulgrew agreed, still eyeing them warily. 'OK. So long as you're comfortable.'

'What's up, Mum?' Connor demanded. 'We haven't done anything. Unless you count telling Audrey about today,' he added with a smirk.

His mother glared at him. 'Oh, so that's where she found out! I might have known. Well, just you wait until I get you home, young man… but no, that's not why I wanted you.'

She moved to lean against her desk, and Dynasty's grasp on Kevin's hands turned into a claw-like grip that drew a perceptible wince from him. Instantly, she loosened her hold on him and soothed his skin with a feather-light brush of the finger. It helped to think of his comfort instead of hers, to focus on him instead of waiting for Mrs Mulgrew to speak.

When the Head looked at Dynasty the girl shuddered in anticipation. Mrs Mulgrew's eyes held the same look that they'd worn the day of Kacey's ambush; they were bruised with understanding and Dynasty's sense of dread transformed into absolute certainty.

'It's the t—trial, ain't it, Miss?' she asked jerkily.

'Yes,' Mrs Mulgrew told her gently. 'They phoned here this morning; since you went to the police station from here, and as all four of you are to be called and you're all pupils of Waterloo Road the court decided to let us know as a courtesy. You'll all receive formal written summons as well.'

'Why am _I_ wanted?' Imogen asked nervously. 'I wasn't really involved at all—'

'Because Steve-O is being charged on several counts,' the Head explained. 'They're charging him with intimidation, blackmail and possession of a firearm in addition to rape. You're a witness for two of those.'

'W—why?' Dynasty asked, forcing the words past the iron band about her throat so that they emerged as an odd kind of squeak. 'Why all of those, Miss? Isn't rape bad enough?' Despite Kevin's comforting touch, she began to tremble. 'Wasn't what he did to me bad enough for them?'

Mrs Mulgrew came to kneel before her. 'They're just trying to make sure that he goes back inside, love,' she said gently. 'You know how the law works in Scotland, I know you were told when we went to the police station.'

'W—was I?' Dynasty hiccoughed. 'I—I don't r—remember…'

The Head sighed. 'No, I suppose you don't. Right.' She paused to take a deep breath, and Dynasty's pulse began to throb with sickening irregularity. She was not going to like this, she just knew it. 'OK, it this way. The law here states that in cases of rape a prosecution can only proceed when there are two corroborating pieces of evidence. Ideally that would be your word plus something physical, something forensic. Like, torn fabric or—or bruises or t—tearing…' She closed her eyes, visibly battling for control.

Connor went to put his arm around his mother's shoulders. 'Hey, it's OK,' he murmured, giving Dynasty a tiny nod that she read as, _don't freak out, just give her a minute…_

'Thanks, Connor.' Mrs Mulgrew patted the hand that still lay on her shoulder. 'Thanks, son, but this isn't about me. The point is, Dynasty, that in an ideal world the second piece of evidence would be something scientific, something that can _conclusively_ link you with your rapist such as DNA or body fluids and so on. Now, in this case we don't have that. That's not uncommon,' she went on, her voice deepening and compelling Dynasty's panicked attention. 'Like I said before, most women never report a sexual assault—and sometimes, when they do, it's like this, there's been a gap because the woman has been too scared or ashamed to come forward.'

'So what does it mean?' Imogen asked, voicing the question that Dynasty was afraid to ask.

Mrs Mulgrew bit her lip and answered slowly. 'It means that while they've agreed to prosecute Steve-O for rape on the grounds of Dynasty's statement plus the evidence provided by Kevin and Connor of the intimidation and blackmail… it's really very circumstantial. The truth—the truth is, that while Steve-O may well get sent down again, you need to prepare yourself that it may _not_ be because he's been judged guilty of rape.'

**10.45, Playground**

'Kace!'

Kacey stiffened at the harsh sound of her brother's voice; in the past months he'd acquired a tough, almost brutal edge that left her secretly afraid of him. She turned to face him, one foot automatically halting her ball, her shoulders slumping with the foreknowledge that his mood was foul.

'Hmm?'

'Mam phoned,' he said shortly, watching her half-hearted dribbling with cold eyes. Once upon a time he'd encouraged her love of football, but she knew he now viewed it as proof of her strangeness, of not being quite a proper girl. After all, _Dynasty_ had never been into football. 'Trial's next week.'

Kacey tried to think what to say. Barry was on such a short fuse these days that it was all too easy to say the wrong thing. She tried the obvious.

'That's good, innit? Be good for Dyn, knowin' that loser's back inside.'

Barry stared at her in disbelief. 'Are you stupid or somethin'? D'you think Steve-O goin' back inside solves anythin'?' He grabbed her shoulders and pulled her roughly towards him so that their noses were nearly touching. 'D'you not get it, Kace? We're not safe no more. We was safe before, 'cause we played by the rules. And d'you know what rule number one is? You—don't—grass. _Ever_.'

'But Steve-o raped her!'

'So _she_ says!'

Kacey twitched away from her brother's hold, the sour taste of betrayal coating her tongue. 'Barry! She's one of us! You gotta believe 'er, 'cos if we don't who will?'

''Shhh!' Barry hissed, his eyes roving the crowds of kids and teachers that milled through the playground. 'Not so loud. Now listen, Kacey. Just think it through. Dyn and Steve-O were goin' out, yeah, and you can't pretend that they'd never done it. So tell me, how can he have raped her? She said herself that she locked the flat door before it happened.'

Kacey chewed her lip, studying Barry through her eyelashes. ''Cos 'e made her,' she insisted. 'She was scared of what he'd do.' She shivered. 'He's well scary, Steve-o. The way he looked at you, it was like insects crawling. You don't get it 'cos you're a boy.'

'So now you're a girl, are you?' Barry sneered. 'Just goes to show.'

Kacey flushed to the roots of her shaggy bob. Barry never had and probably never would let her forget her stint as Robbie. 'Well, if I do feel like that, whose fault is it?' she demanded shrilly. 'Who forced me to wear makeup? _You_! Who stood by and did nothin'—_nothin_'—while Steve-o stripped me? It was you, Barry, and you're supposed to _care_!'

For a moment the old Barry peeped back at her, the Barry who would do anything for his little sisters. 'I don't—' he began, but Kacey had bottled her rage and resentment bottled for months, and now it overflowed in Dynasty's defence.

'You 'eard what the Head said,' she told him furiously, jabbing him in the chest with a forefinger as she'd seen her sister and mother do. 'If you don't consent, it's rape. And Dyn never wanted to sleep with him then.' She paused to draw a breath. 'Why've you changed your mind? Steve-O was hauled in 'cos of _you_ and your little games!'

Barry's expression darkened. 'Yeah, an' that was a mistake an' all. Shoulda kept me nose out of it. Would've been safer. Now I'm trying to find a way to get Steve-O off this rape charge; if he goes down 'cos of that we're all in deep shit, kid. His crowd'll hunt us down, and what happened to you the other week will be nothin'—_nothin_'—to what'll happen to us all if they find us. We'll need to run.'

Kacey was kicking the ball again, tiny kicks. 'I won't go,' she muttered. 'I like it here and so does Dyn.'

'Heh.' Barry eyed her with the look of disgust that had become painfully familiar over the last months. 'Fine. Just remember, you'll really like it when you're dead.'

She watched him go, his name hovering on her lips as she watched him charge through the crowds with all the empathy of a bulldozer. It was no use, she realised. Barry was set on his own path. Perhaps he was right; perhaps they really were in danger from the remnants of Steve-O's gang, but she pushed that worry down. Last time hadn't _really_ been that bad, she reminded herself. In one way they'd done her a favour by showing her all the things that were wrong with her. Well, she was trying to fix that, wasn't she? If she fixed it, if she became small enough—invisible enough—they wouldn't see her and she'd be safe. She began to kick her ball against the wall, her body instinctively knowing where to be to stop it on its rebound. She preferred to be by herself anyway—

'Hey, can I try?' someone asked behind her, and Kacey's initial irritation was replaced by curiosity. That accent was Scouse!

'Any good?' she asked, still kicking but watching the newcomer out of the corner of her eye.

''Course,' the other girl said, grinning. 'I'm a Scouser like you. We breathe football!'

Kacey found herself returning the grin, but caution tempered her enthusiasm. Other girls didn't _get_ her, she found—apart from Lula, but Lula was a law unto herself—and she'd been left wary after the whole Zoë episode. 'Why haven't I seen you on the girls' team?'

The girl shrugged, thin shoulders brushing against the bottom of her corkscrew curls. 'Never tried out. Too much crap of me own to deal with.'

'I'm the captain,' Kacey began slowly, glancing at her watch. 'Bell's gonna go in a mo. Wanna kick around at lunch? If you're good I'll tell Clarky. He listens to me.' She could not help the pride that warmed her voice. She still found it hard to believe that Mr Clarkson—a grownup, a teacher _and_ the deputy head to boot—took her word as a given in matters relating to the team. He'd even joked about backing off from the girls' team altogether because she was better at coaching than he was!

It took a moment for the other girl to respond, but when she did it was with a wide, honest smile that brought flecks of light to her eyes. 'Yeah? Well cool, that is. Havin' grownups listen.'

'He's _dead_ cool,' Kacey promised. 'Especially out there,' she added, jerking her head in the direction of the football pitch.

Some of the light seemed to fade from the girl's face. 'Yeah, I know. 'E's me form tutor.'

'Serious? You must know me sister then, she's in 'is form. Dynasty Barry.'

'I know 'er,' the girl returned briefly. 'Don't have much in common with 'er. She's all boobs an' makeup, like.'

Kacey grinned, having once used a very similar phrase herself to describe her sister. 'You bet. Spends ages in t'bathroom in the mornin', we're always late thanks to 'er.' She tilted her head to one side. 'Funny, never 'eard 'er mention another Scouser.'

The girl shrugged. 'Like I said, we don't get on.' The bell rang and she glanced over her shoulder towards the main door of the school building. 'Better go. Lunch, yeah?'

'Deffo!' Kacey leaned forward to pick up her ball, glancing up when she realised her new friend was already walking away. 'Hey!' she called after her. 'You never said. What's your name?'

The girl turned to face her, walking backwards. 'It's Jasmine,' she yelled in return. 'But you can call me Jas. Laters then, yeah?' She disappeared into the stream of pupils converging on the front steps.

'Laters, Jas,' Kacey murmured as she followed her example. She was giddy with exhilaration despite Barry's bad temper; the girls' team was growing, Steve-O was gonna get what he deserved, and she was slowly bringing her rebellious body under control. She hadn't eaten a thing since last night and her knees were trembling from exertion, but the slight shakes only boosted her mood. They proved that _she_ was in charge, and not the alien entity that was her body. Right now, right in this moment, it was enough.

* * *

_So….?_


	16. Episode 4-3

**Noon, Library**

Jasmine entered the library for study period and halted at the door to scan the room for a safe place to sit. That was definitely not at the table where three dark heads and one fair bent over their books, she decided, and nor did she feel inclined to sit next to Jack McAllister, who thought it was funny to wind her up for her tiny size. Then her eye fell on Rhiannon Salt, sitting alone at one of the further tables near the window, her brow screwed up in concentration as she laboriously attempted an essay.

Jasmine approached slowly, careful not to alert the others—particularly the Barry-Mulgrew table—to her presence. She did attract the attention of Barry Barry himself, his gaze tracking her progress across the room, but she could live with that.

'D'you mind if I sit here?' she asked Rhiannon.

'Only if you're not gonna talk,' the other Sixth former said without lifting her head. 'Gotta get this into McFall today or she'll go spare, and since I've got to live with her—'

'What?' Jasmine interrupted. 'McFall's movin' into the School House?'

Rhiannon glanced up. ''Cos of Budgen, see.'

'He still hangin' on?' Jasmine asked lightly.

The other girl's eyes narrowed. 'Budgen's a grumpy old codger, but he's been good to me. I'm not gonna listen to you yabberin' about 'im like that, you 'ear? So either be nice or sod off.'

'OK, OK, I'm sorry. I didn't realise.' Jasmine studied the tip of her pen as she twirled it through her fingers. 'Rhiannon—'

Rhiannon glared. 'What part of "no talkin'" did you not get?'

'I just wanted to ask… you've been in care, yeah?'

'So?'

'I… well, my social worker told me I'm bein' moved to the School House today,' Jasmine gabbled. 'And—and I wondered—'

'What?' Rhiannon prompted. Her tone was curt, but at least she was _looking_ at her.

'Is it better? Than bein' in care?' Jasmine's voice wobbled as she remembered the unpleasant woman at her most recent care home; the latest in a long line, people who'd started off with good intentions but become hardened and embittered with the years.

Rhiannon studied her for a long moment before saying simply, 'It's the first real home I've ever had.' A sheepish smile pulled at the corners of her mouth. 'If you tell anyone I said that I'll kill yer, but … it's good. It's well good. We're all family, like.'

'Yeah?'

'Yeah,' Rhiannon repeated with a slight nod. 'It's not the same as your own real family, 'course, but it's dead close. D'you have any?' she asked suddenly, sounding genuinely interested in the answer.

Jasmine hesitating before answering. 'Just me brother.'

'Parents wasters?'

Jasmine's shoulders lifted in a tiny movement. 'Could say that. Mam's dead, and me dad… I don't know and I don't care. I never wanna see 'im again. Me brother's all I've got.'

'Me too,' Rhiannon told her, and they exchanged sympathetic smiles. 'Look.' She fished in her pencil case to extract a newspaper clipping. ''E's a footballer,' she said with pride, using a chubby finger to point to a blurry figure in the middle. ''E's good. Gettin' dead famous, he is. Can't believe he's actually me bruv.' Carefully, she replaced the photo. 'You?'

Jasmine eyed the other girl, weighing up the pros and cons of telling the truth. Rhiannon was the first person to actually try to be friendly, and at the back of her mind was the knowledge that soon they would be living in very close proximity. She'd had enough of living with enemies, and surely Rhiannon would understand her desire to be loyal to the only proper relative she had.

'It's… awkward,' she said at last. 'I dunno if I should say.'

Rhiannon seemed to have forgotten about her History. She planted her elbows on the table and rested her chin on her hand. 'Aw, you can't leave it at that! Tell. C'm'on,' she coaxed. 'I'm not the bitch people say I am, I'm not big bad Rhiannon no more. You can trust me.'

Jasmine moved a little closer, licking suddenly dry lips to wet them. 'It's—it's Steve-O,' she said in a quiet rush with an involuntary glance towards Dynasty Barry. Rhiannon reared back and Jasmine continued quickly, desperate for her to listen. 'I know, I know, but I'm tellin' yer, she's got it all wrong. 'E can't have done that to 'er, he's a right piece of work, our Steve, but he's not any worse'n Barry Barry over there, honest, and can yer see _him_ rapin' anyone?'

Rhiannon's eyes were growing larger by the second. 'D'you mean that?'

Jasmine nodded eagerly. 'I'm sure of it. Dynasty musta got it wrong, she mustn't have yelled loud enough or 'e thought she was kiddin' or—or—I dunno, but me brother can't have done what she said, 'e just _can't_. It's not him at all, I swear.'

'H'mm. Or she just flat-out lied,' Rhiannon surmised, her gaze turning calculating. 'She'd shacked up wi' wonder-boy Kevin by then, hadn't she, and Steve-O kept on and _on_ at 'er. I 'eard her givin' off. Mebbe that was her way of gettin' rid.'

Jasmine's pulse began to thump with excitement. If this was true, it gave Dynasty a motive for saying what she had. It might be enough to get Steve-O off the rape charge, or at least throw grave doubt on it. Sure, her brother might still have to do time for the other stuff, but at least there'd be a chance of bail or parole and he wouldn't be inside as long.

'W—would you tell the lawyer that?' she gasped. 'Oh, Rhiannon, it'd mean so much if you did!'

The other girl looked dubious. 'Dunno. I've got me exams to worry about and I don't want the Barry clan after me—'

'But what if we could Dynasty to admit the truth?' Jasmine pressed.

'How?'

Jasmine's mind was working furiously, but before she could say anything Miss McFall had come over to them, frowning.

'I hope you two are working on my essay and not just gossiping,' she remarked. The frown softened and she pointed at them. 'Remember, girls, we're going to be living together. I have my eye on you!' She left them with a near-imperceptible wink and Jasmine turned back to Rhiannon, grinning.

'That it!' she hissed. 'McFall's hit the nail on the head. Dynasty's popular, ain't she? Bet she won't be if everyone knows she's been lyin', 'specially lyin' about _that_. Mulgrew'd do 'er nut after what she told us last week. If everyone starts turnin' their backs on 'er, Dynasty'll come round fast enough, you'll see!'

Rhiannon gave her an answering grin that segued into a smirk. 'Too right she will. OK, leave it with me, Jas. I have me connections. The word'll be all over the school by the end of the day or my name ain't Rhiannon Salt!'

* * *

**1.45pm, Miss McFall's room**

'What're you starin' at?' Dynasty demanded as she passed a gang of Year 10s on her way to Miss McFall's classroom. They stopped talking as soon as she spoke and stood staring at her avidly. 'Got nothin' better to do than to stand gawpin' like a load of silly sheep? Go on, get!'

'Who do you think you are, Dynasty Barry?' one of the the girls demanded, a fifteen year old who had become one of the ring leaders of her form—much to the disquiet of the staff. Courtney Brown seemed to live for nothing but trouble, and she had an uncanny talent for ferreting out gossip wherever it could be found. 'You can't tell us what do to! Besides, who'd listen to _you_ anyway?'

There was a murmur of agreement and Dynasty was taken aback. She'd always worn her popularity lightly and she was unaccustomed to the undercurrent of hostility she could sense emanating from these girls as they pressed together—rather like the sheep she'd compared them to—to block her progress up the corridor.

'You've chosen the wrong woman to mess with, you silly gets,' she informed them in a tolerant tone that she hoped would embarrass them into behaving. 'Come on, shift. I betcha Miss McFall'll be along any minute—'

'We're not scared of McFall,' Courtney sneered. 'If she's comin', that is, 'cos we're not stupid enough to believe a word you say!'

'Yeah!' one of Courtney's satellites shouted shrilly. ''Cos we all know yer a liar, Dynasty Barry! Liar, liar,' she chanted, and the others took it up with growing enthusiasm.

Dynasty swallowed hard, her earlier insouciance turning into nervousness. 'What'cha talking about?'

Courtney folded her arms, grinning, and continued chanting.

Dynasty's eyes narrowed. So these silly idiots thought they could unnerve her that easily, did they? Well, they'd another think coming. She lifted her chin and stepped forward into the phalanx, deliberately aiming herself between two girls she knew instinctively formed the weakest link of this attempt at intimidation.

'You're not getting past!' one of them squeaked.

Dynasty laughed. It was a forced laugh, but they did not know that. 'Right, love. Pick on someone your own size, hmm? Actually,' she continued with a smirk, 'don't. ''Cos if this is how you've been treatin' the other kids, I'll find out. And believe me, I'll make you wish you'd never been born!' She glared into the eyes of the younger girl, aware of a momentary satisfaction when her would-be tormentor's gaze dropped, and shoved her way through, casually swinging her bag as she did so. It was heavy as befitted the bag of a conscientious A'level student, and the Year 10s automatically veered back, allowing her free passage up the corridor.

Once she was through, she turned on one heel. 'Lovely chattin' to yous, babes. Keep yerselves right, yeah, 'cos I'll be watchin' yous from now on. TTFN!' and she strolled in a leisurely fashion to the corner around which Miss McFall's classroom lay.

Kevin pounced on her like a dog on a starving bone. 'There you are! Been lookin' for you.'

With his arms around her, she could allow herself to be weak. 'I'm glad you found me,' she whispered. 'Those Year 10s—' She hid her face in the collar of his blazer, slowly inhaling the scent of clean fabric and the aftershave he'd recently started using in a burst of optimism. They meant safety and comfort and she exhaled a long shuddering sigh, but did not move from her position.

'McFall not in yet?' she asked at last in an approximation of her usual tone.

'Nope. Imogen said we were to just go in, though. I wanted to wait for you,' he added self-consciously, his still-smooth cheeks flushing endearingly pink.

She bit her lip and her hand tightened along the edge of his blazer. 'Thanks, Kev,' she mumbled.

He pulled back. 'What's up?'

She shook her head. 'Later,' she promised. 'C'mon, let's go in.' She took him by the hand and pulled him into the classroom.

Abrupt silence fell and even Dynasty quailed from the battery of eyes now fixed on her. The Year 10s were one thing, but this was quite another. Her grip on Kevin's hand tightened.

'I've kept you a seat,' Imogen called out in her usual tone, and Dynasty felt like hugging her as she went to take it, relieved for once that it was in the front row and thus shielded to some degree.

She was quiet as she pulled out her bits and pieces, only vaguely aware that Imogen was chatting. Then the door opened and Miss McFall entered, and Dynasty felt that it was safe to raise her head.

'Sorry I'm late,' the History teacher gasped, looking flustered. She fluttered around her desk, fiddling with the smartboard. It flashed to life and she gave a nod, visibly satisfied, before placing her palms flat on the desk and leaning forward.

'OK, Year 12. I've been through your last load of essays and it strikes me that most of you could do with a wee bit of… revision!'

The class groaned and Miss McFall shook her head.

'Well, what do you expect? Most of you seem to have forgotten everything you ever knew about sources, so let's go over it again, shall we? Imogen, name the main types of sources we look at in history.'

'Primary and secondary, Miss,' Imogen responded promptly.

'Well done. All right… Jack.' She held up her hand, fingers extended. 'Who, what—?'

There was a pause before Jack called, '…where, when and why, Miss.'

'Excellent!' Miss McFall positively twinkled. 'Connor, what's missing?'

'That's what's missing, Miss!' Connor drawled to the accompaniment of sniggers. 'You need to look for what's _not_ in the source as well as what is.'

'Yes! Well, clearly you haven't forgotten as much as I thought,' the teacher remarked. 'Do remember, people, that there's no point knowing all this in your heads if you can't show it on paper. Contrary to popular opinion, examiners are not mind readers. You can only be marked for what's there in black and white.'

The normality of the class had gone some way to restoring Dynasty to her usual self and she began to relax. She'd always enjoyed source-work, she said it was because she'd been born nosy and source-work was such a fascinating insight into the lives of others.

A voice behind her said, 'Miss, these sources, right, what happens if there's only two?'

'For example, Rhiannon?' Miss McFall prompted after she had repeated the question for Imogen's benefit.

'Well, like, if _something_ happened and it only involved two people,' Rhiannon said slowly. 'And they gave contradicting accounts. How'd you know which one to believe?'

'Ah, now that's the question, isn't it?' Miss McFall looked ridiculously pleased; Dynasty thought uncharitably it was probably because Rhiannon Salt was displaying that she wasn't completely thick. 'The answer, Rhiannon, is that it comes down to probability and judgement. Few sources exist in complete isolation. You weigh them up in the light of their context; that's your job as a historian, to consider the likely possibilities and determine which "truth" best fits the evidence—provided,' she continued warningly, 'that you _do_ make use of all the evidence in your possession. It is not ethical to withhold evidence that does not fit your pet theory.'

'She's up to somethin',' Imogen whispered into Dynasty's ear. 'Since when has Rhiannon Salt cared about History?'

Dynasty nodded, her throat too tight for words. Rhiannon's question coupled with the comments from the Year 10 girls made a plausible theory of their own, and she knew Rhiannon well enough to guess that if the other girl had decided to pursue this, she wouldn't stop. That wasn't Rhiannon's way.

As she proceeded to prove.

'Right, Miss, like _her_. Dynasty,' Rhiannon began, sounding altogether too pleased with herself. Dynasty's grip on her pen tightened until her nails drove deep into the palm of her hand; she focused on that pain instead of the words coming from behind her. 'She said she'd been raped, like, but how's anyone to know? She coulda been lyin', couldn't she? 'Specially if she was cheatin' on Steve-O with someone _else_, someone like Kevin—'

Miss McFall's newly assessing gaze was the last thing Dynasty saw as she fled the room.

* * *

_Decided to put the A/N at the bottom for the change! As always, thanks to reviewers. You always make my day. What do you think of where this is going? Tune in next time when Audrey's desire to be seen to support her new School House lambs results in an altercation with Christine and the summons of Carol Barry…_


	17. Episode 4-4

_H'mmm. Are people losing interest in this? Huge thanks to __**Lauren **__and the __**guest**__ who reviewed last time, but it was enormously disappointing that no-one else did so. I can write quickly and in considerable volume, but I really do best when I'm getting constant feedback. Basically: no feedback=less motivation, less writing, and ultimately probably no fic if my enthusiasm really goes. So… please? Don't forget I'm open to suggestions, ideas, comments etc, any and all feedback is welcome so long as it comes!_

* * *

**2.30pm, Miss McFall's classroom**

'Dynasty!' Audrey exclaimed as one of her star pupils left her classroom without a word of explanation or apology. She glared at Rhiannon. 'I'm ashamed of you and I hope you're ashamed of yourself, Rhiannon Salt!' she scolded. 'How _could_ you?'

Rhiannon looked slightly abashed—but only slightly. 'But, Miss, you're talkin' about sources,' she argued. 'It's right, innit. She says he—Steve-O—raped 'er, yeah, but who's to know? Unless she had a CCTV camera somewhere,' she ended with a smirk.

Kevin was on his feet, his entire body coiled tight with angry tension as he bent over the other Sixth former. 'Always knew you was stupid, but not that you're this stupid,' he said contemptuously. 'You couldn't come with this yourself, Rhiannon, so who's been drippin' lies, eh? _Eh_?!'

'Kevin, be quiet,' Audrey ordered. 'Rhiannon—pastoral care office, now. _Now_!' she shouted as the girl looked mulish.

'Miss, that's not fair,' Rhiannon protested. 'Why'm'_I_ bein' sent out?'

'Because you're the one stirring,' Audrey informed her grimly.

Rhiannon tossed her head and folded her arms across her ample chest. 'Oh, so this is how it's gonna be, is it? Well just remember, Miss, I know where you live and so does Jas 'ere. You lot are always goin' on about havin' a duty of care for us! How's this care? Come on, Jas!'

Audrey moved to block Rhiannon's progress up the aisle. 'I didn't say Jasmine could go.' It was difficult to keep her voice level; up close, Rhiannon Salt's height and bulk made her an intimidating opponent when she was angry and she was clearly angry now.

'Do I look like I care?'

Rhiannon tried to push past while Audrey spluttered her indignation; meanwhile, half the class was yelling at the other half—apart from Barry Barry, who'd seemed sunk in a world of his own throughout the entire episode.

This thought must have occurred to Kevin at about the same time it did to Audrey, for the former had turned to the older boy, demanding to know why Barry hadn't spoken up for his sister.

Barry looked up and Audrey's arms goosepimpled under their light cotton covering. His eyes were icy cold; a snake's eyes.

'Yeah,' he said, his tones deceptively soft. 'Wondered when you'd get 'round to askin' me.'

Silence fell; the kind of fascinated, intent silence that precedes an inevitable explosion.

'We're askin' now,' Kevin ventured, while even Rhiannon and Jasmine had frozen on their way to the door. Imogen, Audrey saw, was twisted in her chair in an attempt to see what was going on; it was such an awkward posture that it must be painful, the teacher thought.

Barry was slow to answer, his nails rap-a-tap-tapping a maddening rhythm on his desk. Just as Audrey was about to order him to speak—it was either that or scream—his gaze went past Audrey's shoulder to rest on Rhiannon and Jasmine.

'You go on girls,' he told them in a gentle tone that raised the tiny hairs at the back of Audrey's neck. 'You're just right, you are. 'Cos you know what? My sister's a liar. Steve-O never touched her, not without her consent, he never ra—'

He was silenced when Kevin threw himself bodily on the older boy, the force of his onslaught driving them both to the floor. At once the rest of the class surrounded them, yelling encouragement or disapproval according to temperament. Audrey swallowed, aware that her hands were shaking. Most of these students were bigger than she was, and emotion was running very high—

Someone pulled at her sleeve and she turned to find Imogen at her side.

'Let me go,' the girl implored. 'Dynasty needs me, miss, and, well—' Audrey thought Imogen looked almost pleased before she added, 'It looks like _you_ could do with a bit of help too, doesn't it?'

Audrey glanced at the chaos her lesson was turning into and licked dry lips. 'Yes. Yes, Imogen. Go for Mr Clarkson. We need to stop this.'

Imogen nodded and left. Audrey turned back to the class and grabbed Rhiannon and Jasmine by the wrists. They were too startled to protest and she took advantage of it to hiss, 'You two can get to the cooler, _now_.'

Rhiannon tossed her head again, her lips twisting in a smile that was not at all friendly. 'Sure, miss. Be seein' you later, won't we, Jas?'

Audrey tried to ignore the implied threat as she looked at the rest of the class; the fight had spread and now it seemed to be split evenly down the middle as students took out their grievances on each other. The Mulgrew-Barrys were still at the heart of it, she could see: Barry was fighting against Connor and Kevin like a man possessed, and the two younger boys were looking increasingly beat up by the second…

'Miss, you gotta stop them!' Jack McAllister told her urgently, surprising her. 'You gotta. They'll kill each other!'

She was just nerving herself for the attempt when Tom Clarkson burst through the door, demanding to know what the _hell_ was going on.

**2.45pm, Head's office**

Christine was taking advantage of some peace and quiet to catch up with some council paperwork; Sonya was maintaining a running monologue in the background, but by now Christine had become accustomed to her secretary's habit of talking to herself and it did not disturb her.

She was halfway through Year 7's ideas on 'What I Want To Be' when her door flew open and her daughter-in-law stumbled through it, dragging a very distraught Dynasty behind her. In little more than two steps Christine was beside them while Imogen tried to explain, the words falling over each other in such an incoherent jumble that Christine's brain could only make sense of occasional snatches.

'…Bitch, Rhiannon…. All McFall's fault… and they _believed_ her… and then _Barry_—'

'Barry?' Dynasty interjected, her voice wobbling. 'You never said anythin' about 'im. What did '_e_ say?'

Imogen did not seem to hear. 'He said Dynasty was lyin', the nasty little _toad_, and that he supported Rhiannon and —'

'I'm not goin' to trial,' Dynasty burst out, her voice overlapping with Imogen's. She was sheet white, her eyes a ghoulish mix of red and running black. 'Miss, I'm sorry, I've changed me mind. I won't testify, I can't, there's no point! You 'eard her, no-one believes me!'

'—And then Kevin _went_ for him!' Imogen exploded, so intent in her own tale that she was unaware of anything Dynasty had said. 'I don't blame him, but they all started scrappin' and Miss couldn't stop it, everyone was hitting everyone else—'

Christine stood up, realising that it was the only thing that would shut them up. 'Imogen. Imogen!' she repeated sharply when her daughter-in-law seemed poised to begin another tirade, having just regained her breath after the last one. 'Did you say that Barry _Barry_ said his sister is a liar?' She was careful to keep her voice level and to not look at Dynasty while she spoke. 'Quickly, please!'

Imogen took the hint. 'Yes, Miss. But only after Rhiannon asked McFall some very leading questions. She pretended they were just history at first, but then—' Her voice started to rise and Christine lifted a finger.

'Quietly, love. Now, Dynasty, where were you during all this?'

'I left,' Dynasty admitted. 'I couldn't sit an' listen to 'er, Mrs M, 'm sorry. I should have stayed. I should have stayed!' she burst out. 'Now they'll all believe Barry and those silly cows and it'll all be my fault…' She sank onto the chair facing Christine's desk, going straight down as if her legs would not hold her. 'How do I do this if no-one believes me?' she repeated dully. 'I can't stand up in court knowin' that even me own _brother_ thinks I'm a liar.'

Christine came round the front of her desk and leaned against it, standing near Dynasty without touching her.

'There'll always be people who are ready to throw doubt,' she told the girl. 'You need to rise above it. Besides, there are people who believe you and who'll stay with you every step of the way. There's Imogen,' she said, nodding towards the other Sixth former, whose earlier volubility had been replaced by an intense focused silence that spoke of the effort she was putting into lipreading. 'There's Connor and Kevin and Kacey and your mum. Me too,' she added with a small smile, 'but I don't think I need to tell you that. The rest of the staff.'

'But not the kids,' Dynasty said tonelessly. 'I got caught by some Year 10s earlier. They called me a liar too. An' you're wrong about me mum.' Her entire figure seemed to sag; even the wild hair lost something of its usual exuberance.

'Not Miss McFall either, I don't think,' Imogen put in. 'She was going on about stuff like _justice_ and _evidence_ and not twisting the _facts_ to fit your pet theory as if she thought that's what we've been doing!'

Christine's lips tightened. Did Audrey really—? She must speak with her, and soon—especially as Rhiannon and Jasmine would need to be called in and Audrey was now_ in loco parentis_ to both since her appointment at the School House. She bit back the groan that wanted to come; she'd known at the time that that decision was a mistake and a half, but she hadn't expected it to come back and haunt her so soon! And Carol—

'What did you mean about your mum?' she demanded of Dynasty, whose hands were twisting fretfully in her sleeves, threatening to pull the cuffs out of shape.

'She hasn't said outright, but I think she thinks that all this just a huge fuss about nothin'.' Blue eyes stared fearfully at Christine through their curtain of spiky black tear-coated lashes. 'She's made comments, passin' remarks, that a woman couldn't be blamed for—for bein' raped, but she _can_ be blamed for stupidity and not knowin' how to handle herself around a man and make sure 'e knows when no means no.' The hands twisted again and Christine heard the distinctive muffled hiss of fabric ripping. 'Mebbe she's right.'

'Well, let's get her in, shall we?' the Head suggested briskly. 'She's your mum and she loves you. I _know_ you know that, Dynasty, I've heard you say so, remember? We'll have Barry in too and get this settled. The trial's next week.' She reached out a forefinger to lift the downcast girl's chin so that their eyes met. 'You _do_ want Steve-O to be punished, don't you?'

'I want 'im dead!' Dynasty spat, startling—but not surprising—Christine with her vehemence. ''E's dangerous. He should be put somewhere where he can't hurt anyone ever again! But… but…'

'But what?'

'You said he mightn't go down for what 'e did to me,' Dynasty whispered. 'If 'e's not gonna go down for that, if he could be sent down for the other stuff… couldn't we leave it?' She sounded wistful and afraid. ''Cos inside's _inside_, innit?'

'He'll be out sooner,' Imogen pointed out. 'I googled it. They give consecutive sentences. So he could get a year for havin' the gun, four years for blackmail and fraud, and another four years for rapin' you. That's… nine years.' She sounded appalled. 'Without the rape charge, maybe only five. Dyn, you're seventeen now. If you don't speak up he could be out an' about by the time we finish uni!'

Dynasty had seemed to shrink by the minute in the face of Imogen's litany of numbers. 'Is that all? I thought 'e'd get life,' she murmured, turning horrified eyes to Christine. 'How do you do it, Miss? How do you live knowin' he's out there?'

Christine's eyes closed as she tried to think how to answer. 'It—it's hard,' she said at last. 'You're afraid. You move away. It takes time before you stop looking back, looking over your shoulder. You try to push it out of your mind and throw yourself into the rest of your life. Or not, in my case,' she added with some bitterness, half-forgetting the girls' presence. 'But it does get better, I promise you—and if you can help Steve-O get what he deserves, at the very least you'll have the space to pull yourself together. Believe me, there's a huge gap between seventeen and twenty two.'

'OK.' Dynasty nodded, her breathing steadying. 'OK, I understand now. I have to make Barry and me mum understand too. Can you get them in, Miss? I wanna do it soon before I chicken out.'

'Will I stay?' Imogen asked.

Dynasty's hand shot out to her. 'Please do. And you, miss.'

'OK, I'll get your brother and Sonya will phone your mum,' Christine promised. 'But first I need a quick word with Miss McFall and your little friends in the cooler. Will you be all right here? You know where the kettle is,' she added with a nod in that direction. 'Make yourselves comfortable. You could even get some coursework done!' It was a feeble joke, but the girls managed to smile and Christine took a deep breath. They were resilient, they'd be fine. And in the meantime, she had a bone to pick.

**3.00pm, Miss McFall's room**

By the time Tom finished telling Year 12 what he thought of them they'd been reduced to brooding, resentful silence. Audrey had tried to explain, but so clumsily that Tom had ended up sending her to the cooler to watch Rhiannon and Jasmine, while he himself kept a tight hold on Barry Barry's collar. He didn't like the look he could see in the boy's eyes, it was verging on feral.

'You've got fifteen minutes before the end of school,' he told the rest of the class sharply. 'Try to at least _pretend_ you're sixth formers and potential prefects for that short time, yeah? Otherwise we'll need to pull this prefect scheme—and the whole school will know why.'

That worked as Tom had suspected it would. Year 12 _en masse_ probably couldn't give two hoots about the idea of prefectship, but they'd certainly want to avoid looking like childish fools in the eyes of the lower school. Their heads immediately bent over their books and Tom yanked Barry out of the classroom with a grim nod of satisfaction.

'Right, you,' he said, pushing Barry against the wall. 'Give me one reason why I shouldn't exclude you immediately.'

''Ey, why are yer goin' for me, sir?' Barry protested in the whining tone that always set Tom's teeth on edge. 'Wasn't me who started it!'

'No, but you've always got a grubby finger in the pie when there's trouble about. Miss McFall said something about Dynasty. Explain.'

Barry's lips twisted in a sneer. 'Aw, everyone's so concerned about poor wee Dynasty and Kacey bein' all right, aye, and they're forgettin' the important stuff.' He shook off Tom's restraining hand and folded his arms, his jaw squaring. 'I'm tryin' to keep 'em _alive_, sir!'

'Come,' Tom told him, gripping him firmly by the upper arm. 'I'd like Miss McFall and the others to hear this too. Should be good,' he ended sarcastically, and Barry rewarded him with a glower.

'The more the merrier,' someone observed behind them, and Tom turned to see the Head approaching them, her eyes turned to slate. 'I'm glad to see you, Barry,' she went on. 'I was coming to find you. Mr Clarkson, are Year 12 settled? I understand there's been … an altercation.'

'Yeah, you could say that,' Tom agreed, throwing Barry a sour look. 'They're settled for now, Mrs Mulgrew. I'm taking Barry to join Kevin and Connor in the pastoral care office.'

The Head's eyebrows went up. 'Rhiannon and Jasmine?'

'Cooler, with Audrey,' Tom said curtly.

Christine nodded. 'All right. I'll get them and join you in the pastoral care office in… five?' she finished, glancing at her watch. 'We haven't much time. Sonya's getting Barry's mother in.'

'What? Why? What'd you do that for?' Barry complained. 'I'm the man of the family, miss, while me dad's inside. It's me you should be talkin' to, not me ma. She'll tell me everythin' anyway,' he ended with a smirk.

Christine's gaze was level. 'Perhaps so, but this needs a proper adult'—Tom had to hide a smile at the subtle emphasis the Head placed on _proper_—'so we're legally obliged to get your mother. However, it does involve you too. You'll find out!' she ended, her pace picking up as she left them for the cooler.

'I wish everyone would stop bloody stop _interferin_' in my family's business!' Barry ground through his teeth as they watched her go. Tom could feel how tense the boy's muscles were under his hand, and he tightened his grip, determined not to be shaken off.

'Come on,' he ordered. 'Faster we get there, faster we're done.'

**3.10pm, Cooler**

Audrey had time to think on her way to the cooler, and she was left with the stomach-dropping feeling that she'd put her size-fives well and truly in it. She could only imagine what Christine would make of the whole affair, and the thought made Audrey McFall quail, both personally and professionally. At least the girls were subdued, she thought as she peered through the window in the cooler door; they weren't even sitting together, with Rhiannon scowling at the front while Jasmine hunched in her seat half-way down the classroom.

She opened the door and went to sit at the desk, taking her time about arranging herself comfortably. Rhiannon ostentatiously glanced at her watch, a silent reminder that the bell was due to go at any minute, but Audrey ignored it.

'Jasmine,' she began, and the girl jumped. 'Why are you targeting Dynasty like this?' she demanded. 'And what's worse, dragging others into it.' She glanced at Rhiannon and knew she'd hit the nail on the head when the bigger girl's pale complexion turned pink. 'Come on, I'm waiting!' she pressed when Jasmine made no attempt to respond. 'Your behaviour towards a vulnerable pupil today has been… well, it's been beyond despicable!'

Jasmine reacted as though she'd been shocked.

'Oh, so now you decide _she's_ tellin' the truth!' she flung at the teacher, uncharacteristically fierce. 'You need to make up yer mind, miss. It's 'er or me!'

'She's only tryin' to 'elp her brother, miss,' Rhiannon put in plaintively. 'That's not wrong, is it?'

Despite her annoyance with both, Audrey found herself softening as she looked at Rhiannon. 'Family loyalty is a great thing,' she said gravely. 'But not _all_ the time. Not when it's mindless acceptance. The fact is, Dynasty Barry has accused Steve Malone of raping her, and the authorities have taken that seriously. It's not for us to decide whether or not he's guilty; that's a job for the jury at his trial.'

'If it goes to trial,' Jasmine muttered. 'If there's not enough evidence against 'im, it'll be thrown out.'

'The date's already set for next week!'

Jasmine's head came up, her eyes glittering. 'So? There's still time to make 'er take it back!'

'Why should she do that?' Audrey shot back. 'Doesn't she have the right to feel safe?'

All of Jasmine's defiance seemed to die and she shrank back in herself. 'What about _my_ right to be safe, miss?' she whispered. 'Don't _I_ count?'

Audrey stared at her, genuinely surprised. Even Rhiannon looked startled, but before either could say a word the door opened a second time and Christine looked in.

'Miss McFall,' she said coolly. 'Rhiannon, Jasmine, you're both to go to Mr Clarkson in the pastoral care office. _Now_,' she added as she girls (and Audrey, it must be confessed) gaped at her.

'Go on,' Audrey urged, and the two girls obeyed reluctantly. Audrey was aware of a flare of frustration that Christine had entered at just that moment; another five minutes might have given her the key she needed to deal with Jasmine—and that was a very real concern since as of this evening she was responsible for her.

That thought was uppermost in her mind when she turned to the Head. 'I was so close, _so_ close to finding out what's behind all this,' she told the younger woman, her fingers coming together in a pincer movement. 'Another two minutes—'

Christine's lips pursed. 'Well, I'm sure I'm sorry for interrupting.' Her tone was sharp. 'Audrey, please tell me you haven't said or done anything—_anything_—that would make Dynasty Barry question our faith in her. She's a very vulnerable young girl right now and—'

'Dynasty isn't the only pupil in the school,' Audrey interjected tightly. 'Perhaps _you_ should be considering whether you're getting too close, whether this is all too… personal … for you to deal with.'

Christine's eyes took on the stony look that Audrey had seen before—but never when her friend was sober. She took an involuntary step back and Christine's lips twitched.

'Ah, got you running scared now, have I?' She gave a sound that was part scoff, part laugh. 'Let's get one thing straight, _Miss_ McFall. My issues, my past, have nothing to do with this and I resent your implication that it does. It is important _only_ because it means that I know—intimately—_exactly_ what that girl and her friends are going through right now, and I will do _whatever_ it takes to get them past it. That _is_ part of my job, not just as a headteacher but as a friend and a mother. Don't you _dare_ try to imply otherwise!'

'I—I was only—' Audrey tried.

'Only _nothing_,' Christine snapped, her teeth clicking on the 't'. 'But you'll learn. You'd better, or I'll be questioning my wisdom in making you _pro tem_ houseparent in the School House even more than I already am. Now, are you coming? We're expected in the pastoral care office.'

'I—I—' Audrey stammered.

Something that might have been amusement lit the Head's eyes. 'All right. In your own time, then!' and she turned on her heel and left, leaving Audrey to follow.

* * *

_OK, I think that's it for now. That's nearly 4000 words as it is, so the next part—finishing this episode (at last, I hear you cry)— should be short. Just a reminder: if you're reading and you want to see more, please, please review. It really does make a difference!_


	18. Episode 4-5

_At last! I feel like I've been fussing over this chapter for ages. That's because I wasn't very well earlier in the week, thus impeding my progress. However, here we are—last bit of Episode Four. And did I say it would be short? I, er, lied. It's not. You've been warned!_

_Review wise… Those of you who responded to my shriek for reassurance last time—I can't thank you enough. I think I've answered everyone I _could_ answer personally, but just on general principles huge thanks go to:_ **bex, comogen, guest, Virgo girl 14, guest, lexi, SimplyReBECca, lia, CBurns1995, loveistheprotection, dustdancingintheflickerlight**, _and last but by no means least,_** jessiekat89**. _You're all amazing and I can't tell you how much you've spurred me on to continue!_

* * *

**3.20pm, Mrs Mulgrew's room**

* * *

Christine slammed her classroom door behind her and leaned against it, her head falling back to rest on the wire-veined window as she struggled to get her anger under control. What did Audrey McFall know of anything that existed beyond the ivory towers of academia? The woman had admitted it herself, she was a cold fish who'd never had much luck with relationships. What did _she_ know of the complex emotional aftermath of rape?

Yes, Christine _had_ become involved with Dynasty… perhaps, by some counts, too involved, but in all honesty it was impossible not to do so. She could hardly remain aloof when the girl was one of her son's best friends, when increasingly the young quartette chose to decamp at the Mulgrew home rather than Chalky's flat or the cacophonous Barry household. It was difficult to to be purely professional with them when the night before they'd all played an uproarious game of cards, or turned her kitchen into a bomb site with their attempts at cooking. Then there were the times when the others were off doing something else and Dynasty would creep in to sit with Christine for a while; usually to chat lightly, sometimes to sit in silence—but now and then the girl would enter with anxious eyes and it would be clear that she wanted nothing more than to be held as she cried. When that happened Christine found herself reflecting on the irony that it was only now, as Connor stood poised on the brink of adulthood, that she was finally learning how to be a proper mother.

No, she did not regret that and she would not apologise for it, not to Audrey or anyone else. But what if the older woman had a point? Dynasty wasn't the only needy pupil in the school, and the History teacher had been absolutely correct to remind her of that. She _was_ Waterloo Road's Headmistress, incredible though that still seemed, and she owed a duty to all her pupils, not just those for whom she had developed an affinity. Jasmine Maguire was a vulnerable child, that was why she'd asked for the girl to be moved to the School House, where Christine felt her progress could be more carefully monitored. Jasmine was not the cleverest of girls, but her marks had deteriorated since Dynasty's ordeal at Steve-O's hands had become public knowledge—indeed, they'd deteriorated more than Dynasty's had, an anomaly that now piqued Christine's curiosity. At least Rhiannon's involvement in the whole debacle was straightforward enough; she'd been effectively abandoned by her parents and had only recently reforged a connection with her footballer brother, for whom she'd conceived a love that bordered on idolatry. Jas's fanatical loyalty to Steve-O would seem entirely natural to her. But Steve Malone was certainly no Lee Salt…

Christine's lips thinned as she stepped away from the door, squaring her shoulders and pulling down the front of her jacket. Her classroom could not be a refuge forever, she had a job to do and it needed to be done quickly. Carol Barry would undoubtedly be on her way, and Christine knew that the confrontational woman was unlikely to have the patience to wait while she dealt with the needs of another pupil. With a final shake of her head to settle her hair, she left the classroom, running lightly down the stairs and through the corridors past the cooler. A glance through the window brought her up short; it showed that Jasmine was there, hunched back in her original place.

She opened the door, her lips pursed with annoyance. 'What are you doing back here? You should be in the pastoral care office by now!'

There was no answer as her pupil continued to shrink in her seat. Already small for her age, she now looked tiny, frail and childlike, and the Head's irritation dissolved into genuine concern.

'Jasmine?' she questioned, deliberately keeping her voice soft as she closed the door behind her. The girl reminded her of the dogs in the rescue shelter she'd brought Connor to years ago in an attempt to gain some respite from his constant nagging for a pet. Thankfully the sight of the cringing animals had put him off and he'd never asked again.

She approached the desk slowly, aware that Jasmine was watching her nervously, her eyes flickering with Christine's every movement. 'Come on, let's go and get this sorted out and then we can all finish for the day. Don't you want to get settled in the School House?'

'Stop pretendin', miss!' Jasmine spat, turning in a heartbeat from frightened dog to bristling cat. 'Stop pretendin' that you care about me when I know yer don't, at all. No-one does,' she ended with weary resignation, her shoulders slumping.

Christine stopped a metre away from her, judging that it would be unwise to go any closer.

'No-one? What about Steve?' It took an enormous effort to say his name evenly, to prevent any colouring of intonation, but Jasmine would only confide in her if she could believe that her headmistress was truly capable of being impartial.

Jasmine stared at her, her eyes dark, and Christine willed herself to stillness and silence. Finally, the girl heaved a shuddery sigh, defiance draining from her like air from a pricked balloon.

'He don't care about me neither, miss. If—if 'e did he woulda been more careful, wouldn't 'e? 'E wouldn't 'ave threatened Connor an' Kevin an' Imogen. 'E promised e'd stay out, didn't 'e? He _promised_, miss!' It was nearly a wail. ''E said we'd have a _proper_ 'ome and I'd have somewhere nice to go at night, a room of me own an' all, and someone to 'elp me wiv me 'omework. You mightn't think it, but 'e's clever, our Steve. Cleverer'n'me, anyroad.'

'Not clever enough, evidently,' Christine remarked as she sat on a desk near Jasmine, swinging her feet up to the adjacent seat. 'You're cleverer than he if you can see he was foolish to get himself into more trouble so soon after his release.'

_That_ triggered a flash of spirit.

'I'm clever about _nuffing_, miss. I know that, you doesn't 'ave to pretend, 'cos I'm not so dumb as I can't see straight through yer. I'm stupid an' that's why no-one cares.'

'Jasmine—'

The girl's head lifted, her chin jutting out at a stubborn angle. 'Steve didn't 'urt Dynasty,' she insisted. ''E didn't, miss. 'E _couldn't_ 'ave.'

Christine studied her carefully, suddenly alert. 'Why are you so certain?'

There was a long pause, a pause that was so stretched and tense that the Head became acutely aware of her own heartbeat pulsing at her throat, of the sound of the clock ticking, of Jasmine's ragged breathing as her head went down on her desk, the unkempt curls spilling over the smooth blue laminate.

''E _couldn't_ 'ave.' The statement was muffled. 'Not _Steve_. Not when—'

Christine blew out a breath slowly, wondering whether she dared to probe further. Some things were better left unsaid, she reminded herself… but on the other hand, the unsaid could fester, turn to poison, and Jasmine had caused enough grief for one day. If that could be excused—

'When—_what_?' she pushed.

There was no answer but Jasmine was breathing in short gasps, and Christine tried to remember whether the child had a history of asthma. Even if she did not, she was certainly on the verge of hyperventilating and that carried risks of its own.

'Easy, Jasmine,' she soothed, leaning forward. 'Come on. Take a deep breath. Yes, that's it.' Jasmine's head lifted a little off the desk, her eyes seeking out Christine's, and the older woman forced a reassuring smile. 'Just keep breathing slowly and try to tell me calmly. It's not going to help if you end up on the floor, is it?'

Jasmine was still watching her warily, her gaze assessing. All at once she seemed to come to a decision.

'I'll tell yer, I will. 'Cos of what you told us that time in assembly.' She stopped, clearly nerving herself to continue, and Christine found herself thinking _oh God, no, not again…_

'It was me da, miss. 'E came onto me, over'n'over after me mam died, 'cos 'e said it was my fault an' I 'ad to be punished…' Her voice broke and Christine bit deep into her lip. So many damaged children…

Jasmine's head had fallen back on the desk as she went on, the words coming out in slow, agonising drips. 'An' Steve—when Steve found out what he was doing to me—'e went for 'im. Near killed 'im, 'e did.'

A chill prickled down Christine's spine at the matter-of-fact satisfaction in the child's voice as she ended, but she could not blame her. She too would have been delighted to see her abuser injured, even unto death, and only today Dynasty had expressed similar thoughts about Steve-O himself.

'And that's why he went to prison?'

Jasmine sniffled loudly, the childish sound an aching contrast to her sordid tale.

'Yeah. Me da was left brain-damaged. 'E's in a 'ome now.'

_Thank God for small mercies_, Christine thought wryly. 'Didn't the authorities know Steve was trying to protect you?'

'I never told 'em, miss,' Jasmine confessed in a tiny voice. 'They never asked.'

_And you don't grass_, Christine thought in bitter vernacular. 'And Steve didn't—?'

The girl glanced up. 'Nah. Was 'is pride, see?' Christine could have wept at the weary worldliness of her tone. 'E didn't wanna admit 'is wee sister was bein' used an' he hadn't been able to stop it. No good fer 'is street cred, is it? 'Sides, 'e were on probation.' She looked at Christine, confidence shining in her eyes. 'So y'see, miss, 'e _couldn't_ 'ave done that to Dynasty. 'Cos that'd make 'im like me da an' e's _not, _'e's _not_, I'm tellin' yer!'

Christine stepped down from her seat and ventured to kneel by Jasmine's side, noting that even in this position her head was still higher than the slightly built girl's. The old familiar sensation of nausea crawled through her stomach. How could anyone…

'Jasmine, I don't think your brother necessarily _intended_ to hurt Dynasty,' she began, choosing her words with care. 'I know they'd been going out for some time, and sometimes—sometimes men think women say one thing and mean another. That's not an excuse,' she added quickly, 'but it does happen. All the same, he _did_ intimidate Dynasty into having sex with him against her will and that counts as rape, just as what your—your _father_ did to you counts as abuse.'

This time Jasmine did not protest Steve's innocence, her resistance giving way to a succession of tremors that ran through her fragile form, and Christine shrugged out of her jacket and placed it carefully about Jasmine's shoulders. The girl glanced at her with terrified eyes as she pulled the heavy linen close, her fingers clutching it in a manner that promised impossible wrinkles later.

'If 'e gets sent down—'

'If he's judged guilty, we think he could be in prison for anything between five and nine years. He's been accused of a number of serious crimes, including the count of rape.'

Jasmine curled up in her seat, pulling thin knees up to her chest under the protective tent of her headmistress's jacket. 'What's gonna 'appen to me, miss? Where'll _I_ go?'

Cautiously, Christine reached out to touch her shoulder, mentally wincing when she saw how the child automatically flinched from the touch. 'Don't worry about that. Your home will be the School House while you're at Waterloo Road, even during the holidays.'

'But that's only another year an' a bit,' Jasmine pointed out with another series of loud sniffles, her tears flowing freely at last. 'I'm not clever, miss, I w—won't get into no uni—'

'If you want to go to uni, I'll personally make sure you get there,' Christine assured her fiercely. 'Even if it means giving you an extra year—or even two!—at school. As long as I'm Head here there'll be a place for you if we have to set up a camp bed in my office!'

It was a rash promise, Christine knew, but something had to be said—and she vowed that she would make that promise good if she needed to, no matter what. Perhaps she should have a word with Lorraine about providing some sort of emergency accommodation for vulnerable ex-pupils, there was no reason why they couldn't be asked to pay something towards their bed and board… but that was a problem for another day, and this one was passing rapidly. It was a wonder no-one had come looking for her.

Jasmine was studying her suspiciously through wet lashes. 'Why are you doin' this?'

'Because it's my job,' Christine told her simply. 'And because—' She had to stop to clear her throat before continuing with, 'Because once upon a time, no-one offered me what I'm offering you now.'

Jasmine's lower lip was trembling. 'The—the rape? The one you told us about?'

Christine nodded, unable to speak.

Jasmine's head fell forward. She was still shaking. 'M—miss, I c—can't,' she stammered. 'I can't speak against 'im. Steve.'

Christine closed her eyes and allowed instinct to speak for her. '_Can't_—or won't?'

Jasmine said nothing, and the older woman's gaze narrowed as she remembered everything she'd heard of Steve-O and his gang from the Barrys.

'Jasmine, is someone _threatening_ you?'

The girl's silence was her only answer, and the Head sighed deeply before pushing herself to her feet with a silent wince for the crack of her knees. 'OK. OK. I won't say any more—except that you must apologise to Dynasty, that at least is not negotiable.'

In response, the sixth former curled into an even tighter ball, if that was possible, and Christine was once again sickened by the thought of what she'd endured. And then to be sent from pillar to post through a succession of foster homes…

'Will you come wiv me?'

The unexpected question broke into her thoughts and she blinked, taken aback and touched in equal measure. Abused children—and adults, for that matter—were chary with their trust, and Jasmine would not have made such a request if Christine had not succeeded in getting through to her in some small way.

'I'll be with you every step of the way,' she promised, irony again leaving a sharp taste in her mouth. In less than a year she'd gone from being the pathologically incompetent mother of one to being _de facto_ mother to hundreds. She could only hope that she would do better with the latter than she had with the former; Connor was troubled enough, but in comparison to kids like Jasmine…

Jasmine rose, her eyes huge in her pointed face. 'C—can we do it now?'

Christine smiled through a film of new tears. Moments like this made it all worthwhile. 'Yes,' she said, putting a carefully loose arm about Jasmine's shoulders, 'let's go and do it now.'

* * *

**3.40pm, Pastoral Care office**

* * *

Christine ushered Jasmine along to the pastoral care office, gently chivvying the girl onward when her steps faltered. Once they stood outside the familiar door Jasmine shrank back against the the walls of the corridor, and the Head had to take a deep breath before entering alone. This could all go horribly, spectacularly wrong and the casualties would be two girls who were already walking wounded. She would never forgive herself if she messed this up.

'Over there, Barry, and I don't want to hear another word out of you!' Tom Clarkson was saying as she walked in, his stance expressing his annoyance. 'Kevin, shut it now or _you_ can take yourself off too, Dynasty or no Dynasty. Connor—'

'It's all right, Mr Clarkson,' Christine interjected. 'I'm sending my son off now anyway. Connor, go to my office and send Dynasty here—and Mrs Barry, if she's arrived.'

'She has,' Tom commented with a sideways glance at her. 'Sonya popped by.'

'Yeah, an' me mum's livid,' Barry remarked with a smirk. 'Yer in for it now, miss.'

'Oi!' Tom objected. 'What did I just say?'

Barry took the hint and subsided, but his cocky grin was an insult of its own and the other teenagers in the room rolled their eyes in plain exasperation while Audrey tutted all too audibly.

_There really are too many people in here_, the Head thought dispassionately. Time to get rid of a few… 'Connor, go now,' she instructed. 'And when you're done, you can take yourself and Imogen home. I'll come when I can.'

'But—' Connor tried, and she gave him her best mother-cum-teacher glare.

'Move, I said!'

He threw her a dark look and left the room, the set of his shoulders eloquently proclaiming his displeasure—but his mother had no time to worry about that. Instead, she looked at the only girl in the room.

'Rhiannon, you can go too. You're not in any trouble,' she added quickly, 'but I will say this: for Pete's sake _think_ about who you listen to in future!'

Rhiannon went scarlet. 'Sorry, miss.'

'It's not me you need to apologise to,' Christine told her grimly, and the sixth former's cheeks deepened to a purple that matched her hair. 'Now get out of my sight before I change my mind!'

The girl scuttled off and Christine hid a smile before the sound of voices recalled her to the presence of Jasmine lurking the corridor, and she turned to her deputy. 'Tom, could you keep an eye on Jasmine for a minute? Be gentle,' she added. 'She's very fragile.'

Tom gave her a shrewd look of understanding, but all he _said_ was, 'Of course, Mrs Mulgrew,' and then he was gone, leaving Christine with a sullen Kevin, a smirking Barry, and Audrey McFall, who was standing staring owlishly at them all.

_Audrey_, Christine thought with an inward groan. _I must clear the air with her…_

'Boys, I need a word with Miss McFall,' she said, giving the boys her best you-mess-with-me-at-your-peril classroom glare. 'You've been here for a while. Take ten minutes to gather your things and so on—but if you're not back by four, I don't want to see you here again. I'm only including you as a courtesy. Go on, get!' The boys obeyed, colliding aggressively in the door, and Christine's lips thinned. 'And no fighting, or you're both excluded for the rest of the week!'

Thankfully, they took the hint, and Christine was left alone with her friend.

'Audrey—'

'Did you get anything out of Jasmine?' Audrey interrupted, cutting across the Head in her eagerness.

Christine's composure wavered and it was a moment before she could say, 'I did. It… wasn't good.'

'It never is,' the older woman told her with a gentle pat on the arm. 'Not much of a birthday, is it?'

Christine stared, an incredulous laugh bursting from her. 'God, Audrey, you _do_ focus on the inessentials, don't you? I'd completely forgotten about that.'

'I hadn't,' her friend said simply. 'I'm sorry about earlier—'

Christine waved her to silence. 'It's OK. Really. You were right.'

Audrey grimaced. 'Perhaps. Look, I'd better get back to the School House, but I just wanted… I wanted to give you this.' She reached into the generous pocket of her cardigan and extracted an envelope. 'Meant to give it to you when we were alone but this seems to be the best we'll get today.'

Christine blinked. 'You didn't have to do that. I'm sure you contributed to the hamper I got from the staff this morning.'

'Yes, but this is from me to my friend Christine,' Audrey told her with one of her shy smiles. 'It's a dinner reservation for two at that Italian you like. All paid for—provided you stick to the à la carte menu, that is!' she added hurriedly.

Christine was stunned. 'Audrey, I—I don't know what to say.'

She received another pat on the arm. 'Just enjoy it, dear. And a little suggestion?'

Christine nodded, not trusting her voice.

Audrey smiled, her eyes twinkling madly. 'Bring _him_ with you,' she said, indicating what they could see of Tom through the cooler windows. 'You'd be good for each other.'

With that, she was gone, and Christine was left gasping with surprise and not a little embarrassment—especially when she saw Audrey pause to say something to Tom as she went past and the deputy head nodded and murmured a few words in reply before looking straight at Christine, their gazes locking through the window…

It was a relief when Carol Barry arrived, Dynasty in tow. It would not be accurate to say they accompanied each other; indeed, a quick glance was all it took to tell the Head that that particular mother-daughter relationship had just taken a nose-dive into frozen territory. Dynasty was refusing to engage with her mother in any way, and when they met Kevin and Barry in the doorway she took her boyfriend by the hand and tugged him into the office without favouring her brother with so much as a glance.

Christine sighed, thinking wistfully of that one bottle of vodka that still lived beneath the sink in her kitchen. If only…

_If only's a mug's game_, she reminded herself, repeating one of her grandmother's mantras as she forced a smile of welcome as Carol Barry entered, glaring.

'I hope you've a good reason for callin' me 'ere, Mother Teresa,' she flung at Christine as she threw herself into a chair next to Barry. 'Some of us 'ave a life, yer know.'

'An' some of us want to make a life for ourselves,' Dynasty snapped, hands resting on hips. 'But we can't, because of _her_ brother!' She pointed at Jasmine as Tom Clarkson propelled the other girl through the door, and turned a glare on Christine. 'Miss, what's _she_ doin' ere?'

Christine steeled herself against the girl's fury, understanding it but refusing to allow it to dictate how things should be. Besides, she thought grimly, Dynasty wouldn't complain once she knew.

'Jasmine has something to say to you–ah-ah!' she added warningly when Dynasty's eyes narrowed in a way she'd come to know well. 'You're going to pay her the courtesy of listening to her.'

'Oh, yeah?' This was Dynasty Barry in full flow, her arms folding beneath her bust and her lips pouting. 'Better be good then, hadn't it?'

It was an excellent performance but it rang hollow. Even the trademark Liverpudlian cadences were less strident than usual, and the Head's heart ached for her. For both girls, in fact—_she_ might be able to see through Dynasty's bluster, but Jasmine couldn't; she had gone very white and was pressed back against the filing cabinet. Christine was certain that she would have attempted to flee if it were not for Tom blocking the door.

'I—I'm s—sorry,' Jasmine managed to stutter at last, looking not unlike the proverbial rabbit transfixed by the headlights of an oncoming car. 'I'm sorry for what I said.'

'Which bit?' Dynasty demanded, eyes shooting blue fire. 'The bit where you claimed yer brother'd never 'urt a fly, or the bit where you called me a lyin' little skank and encouraged the kids and thickos like Rhiannon Salt to call me that too?'

'A-all of it,' Jasmine gasped. 'Serious, Dynasty, I never thought—'

'Well, you'd better start, and fast!'

'OK, Jasmine, that's all I need you for,' Christine put in hastily, anxious to prevent another patented Dynasty-tirade. 'Go back to the School House, go on. Tomorrow you can make amends by explaining to _everyone_ you've spoken to today that you were mistaken in what you said. That's only fair, isn't it?'

Jasmine inclined her head in meek acceptance, and Christine sighed inwardly. 'Good. You can go; we'll talk again soon.'

'Miss, why're you doin' this?' Dynasty exploded as Jasmine slipped out. Her tone was aggressive, but there was a betrayed look in her eyes. 'Why're you being nice to '_er_?'

Christine met her gaze squarely. 'Because everyone has their reasons for what they do, Dynasty. You may not understand them; _they_ may not understand them—'

'"The heart has its reasons that reason knows not of",' Tom quoted whimsically, and Christine threw him a smile.

'Precisely. Well—'

'_Finally_,' Carol remarked acidly. 'This'd better be good, Mrs M. I've wasted nearly an hour of my time sittin' around 'ere waitin' on you.'

'Patience is a virtue, Mrs Barry,' Tom told her, grave-faced, and Christine bit her lip to hold back a laugh at the other woman's suspicious expression; Carol Barry was no idiot, and she knew when she was being mocked. It was time to intervene.

'I do apologise for my lateness, but it was unavoidable,' she told the other woman with her most ingratiating professional smile. 'Mrs Barry, Dynasty has been very much upset today, not just by Jasmine Maguire's gossip campaign but also by Barry's agreement with Jasmine. Are you aware of this? Because—'

'Well, 'e's got a point, doesn't he?'

Christine's eyes widened. 'What are you saying, Mrs Barry?'

Carol waved a nonchalant hand. 'I'm not talkin' about whether our Dyn's tellin' the truth or not, that's neither here nor there, but 'e's right about her takin' it all back.'

'See?' Dynasty spat, turning to Christine. '_This_ is what I gotta put up with. I was right before,' she threw furiously to Carol. 'You're a crap mum, you are, what sorta support d'you call this? I'm the one who hasta stand up in front of all them people and say what that—that… _bastard_ done to me!'

'That's what we're tryin' to _spare_ yer from, Dyn,' Barry said. ''Cos we _love_ yer. Why put yerself through it? It'll be hell, rape trials always are, the defence will be tryin' to make you look like a liar. If you thought today was bad, eh…' He lifted his shoulders in a meaning gesture, his lips twitching.

Christine pressed her fingers to her temple and tried to think how best to frame her mounting rage in a way that would help and not hinder the girl at the centre of it all.

Perhaps fortunately, Tom got there first.

'Mrs Barry, don't you _want_ to see Steve-O put away?'

The woman gave him a glance that was part scorn, part fear. 'God, you know nothin', do yer? Steve-O doesn't work alone. 'E was good to me 'usband when 'e first went inside, and Gaz told Steve-O we was 'is mates for life. We were all delighted when Steve-O and our Dyn shacked up; Steve-O took a shine to 'er right away, an' 'e's not a man to be denied.'

'That's the whole point of this,' Christine said as reasonably as she could.

Carol leaned forward. 'You're not gettin' it, Christine. He doesn't work alone, and all 'is mates owe him, big time. When he gets put inside, they go after anyone who got 'im there, all the ones who couldn't keep it buttoned. If Dyn goes ahead, this time that'll be us!'

'Do you know who _they_ are?' Tom asked.

''Course, but our 'ands are tied.' Carol turned to the now silent Dynasty. 'Babe, I'm sorry if you feel I've not been supportin' you right, I really wanna help yer, I do, but 'ow can I do that if we all end up in A&E or dead?'

'That's bollocks an' you know it!' Dynasty flared. 'Sir's right. We know who they are. Tell the police, Mum, get 'em all rounded up. Barry's got evidence against them somewhere or I don't know 'im, tell the police to get Pete an' all the rest of 'em. _Then_ we'll be safe!' Hysteria turned her shrill and Carol flinched.

'Babe—'

'No! No, Mum. It's as simple as this,' Dynasty continued, becoming strangely calm. 'They're dangerous, all of 'em. They need puttin' inside. I don't wanna spend the next few years lookin' over my shoulder, afraid of every noise. I'm young, I wanna live my life. I'm goin' to court no matter what you say, an' if you don't help me now I'm never, never havin' anythin' to do with you again. I'll marry Kevin, I'll change me name, I'll do whatever it takes. And you'll be dead to me—with or without Steve-O an' his mates—because I swear I'll not be a Barry no more!'

The words seemed to bounce off the cooler walls as she finished and Christine attempted to marshal her stupified brain into action, to find her voice and restore a little sanity to this discussion. It was no part of her plan to force a rift between Dynasty and her family; she knew better than anyone how much the girl needed them, even if she denied it now.

A muscle spasmed in her jaw as she tried to speak. 'Dynasty—'

Carol got there first, throwing a large brown envelope at her elder daughter. 'Fine. Have it yer own way, love—but _this_ is the price we'll be payin' for your little stint in court. Not you, obviously, 'cos you'll be off havin' the time o' yer life with genius-boy over there.' Despite the sarcasm her distress was tangible, and Christine saw Dynasty cast her mother an uncertain look as she bent down to lift the envelope that had thumped rather than fluttered to her feet.

Kevin went to stand next to her. 'What is it?'

His girlfriend gave him a shaky smile as she held the packet with careful fingers. 'Dunno yet, do I.'

Barry was watching them closely, his arms folded. 'What'cha waitin' for, Dyn?' he demanded harshly. 'Go on. Open it. 'Ave a look. See what you're gettin' us into.'

The girl darted him an unfriendly glance before obeying by the simple means of tipping the envelope upside down, allowing its contents to fall to the floor. Christine's position blocked her view—but she could see Dynasty's colour blanch to a sickly greenish white before she clapped her hand over her mouth and fled the room, the door crashing shut in her wake.

Carol began to sob and Barry went to put an arm around his mother. 'Are you 'appy now?' he snarled, his eyes burning with hatred as he glared at them impartially. 'Yous'uns have been tryin' to split us Barrys up ever since we got 'ere. Well, now you've done it! Come on, Mum. Let's get Kace and go 'ome. If they want Dynasty, they can bloody well 'ave her!'

When they had gone, Christine turned to Tom, the sense of failure oppressing her. The words tumbled out before she could stop them: 'I'm sorry. God, I'm so sorry.'

'It wasn't your fault, miss,' Kevin told her staunchly. He too was white as he stared at the items he held, but his jaw was square with determination. 'Dynasty's doing the right thing here. So are you. So am I. She needs us. Especially with—' His expression turned to one of disgust as he handed the envelope's contents to Tom—and Christine's breath caught when she saw the ugly knife and caught a glimpse of the photo that accompanied it.

Now she understood why Dynasty had left so abruptly. The photo was of a naked Kacey, bound and gagged from the incident earlier in the term. The lines that had been drawn on the girl's thin body at that time were all too evident now; they were literally scored into the image with the repeated use of a red biro.

Tom turned the photo over, and his Adam's apple moved as he swallowed. 'Christine.'

Reluctantly, but knowing there was no other choice, she reached out to take the photo from him, her chest constricting as she read:

_Pull the charges or next time we won't be playing with pens. Next time them lines'll be in blood._

* * *

**NEXT TIME:**

* * *

**The end of Steve-O's trial has come. What will the verdict be? Will the Barrys patch things up? And can Christine juggle personal inclinations with professional obligations as she struggles to deal with this most personal of issues…**

* * *

Enjoyed? Hated? Bored? Don't forget to tell me what you think!


	19. Episode 5-1

This chapter deserves a happy dance of its own. Because… it marks the start of the half way point of this fic (Episode Five of ten), plus _Mulgrews_ is now both my longest fic on FFN _and_ the most reviewed, for which I give you a gazillion thanks. Speaking of which, particular thanks must go to **lexi, I-Wish-Upon-Falling-Stars, Guest, Paisley, brightlightsbrighterdreams **and **Jessiekat89.**

Enjoy!

* * *

**6.30am, Mulgrew Home**

* * *

Dynasty Barry stared at her reflection, the darkness outside lending the uncurtained living room window a mirror-like gloss that showed her pale face and wild hair with unflattering clarity. Today was the day, the day when she would know whether Steve-O would receive the punishment he deserved. Her stomach flipped; at the start of the week she'd been naively confident, but now she was not so sure. Her forehead fell forward to rest on the icy glass, and she gasped as she tried to remain calm amidst the rising sea of emotion.

She jumped with a tiny scream when a hand landed unexpectedly on her shoulder.

'Can't sleep?' Mrs Mulgrew asked sympathetically as she sat next to Dynasty on the sofa. She was still in her dressing gown, Dynasty saw, but after spending several nights at the Mulgrews' that no longer seemed weird.

'Been awake since three, miss,' she admitted. 'Me 'ead wouldn't shut up.'

Her headmistress's smile glimmered in the half-light. 'That'll teach you to make coffee last thing at night.'

Dynasty returned the smile sheepishly, but she shook her head in a definite motion. 'It weren't the coffee.'

'No, I know it wasn't.' Mrs Mulgrew's sigh was loud in the morning quiet. 'Worried about today?'

Dynasty could not speak, strangled by fear.

'Dynasty?'

'What if 'e gets off?' she blurted. 'I messed up, miss. If 'e walks free it's my fault, innit? What if 'e comes for me, or goes for our Kacey? I couldn't live with meself if anythin' happened to Munch 'cos I messed up.'

'How did you mess up?'

''Cos I let 'im get to me. The defence lawyer. I knew 'e was gonna wind me up and I still let 'im get to me.' Tears and snot began to stream unattractively down her face. 'I yelled at 'im, didn't I? How're the jury ever gonna take me seriously? They'll think I'm just the little skank he painted, a girlfriend who played with 'er man and led 'im on…' Her shoulders convulsed as her headmistress drew her close. Once, independent Dynasty Barry would have been mortified but now she welcomed the embrace, her fingers twining in the silky fabric of the older woman's dressing gown. 'Know what the worst of it is? That's what me ma thinks, deep down, no matter what she says…'

Mrs Mulgrew's arms tightened around her. 'Have you spoken to your mum since last week?'

Dynasty shook her head. 'No.' It came as a whisper. 'She keeps tryin' to phone but I don't take the calls. I meant what I said, but I—I c—can't help missin' 'er—' and she broke into a perfect paroxysm of weeping.

'I wish I could tell you it'll all work out,' Mrs Mulgrew told her, her own voice roughening. 'But I can't, Dynasty. That's not how the real world works. I don't know what's going to happen today any more than you do, but I do know this, and I'm speaking as a parent here.' She tilted Dynasty's head slightly so that the girl was looking at her. 'Your mum loves you and she wants to be there for you. You might not like how she's going about it,' she added quickly, 'but you can't argue with her wanting to support you.'

Dynasty blinked, wishing she could ignore the truth of those words. 'I know,' she whispered, 'but she doesn't _get it_, miss, no matter what I say, and I'm so sick of tryin' and banging me 'ead against a brick wall, I really am…'

'I know, love, I know. It's hard, but you need to realise how lucky you are. Don't turn your back on your family if they're not turning their back on you, because with the best will in the world no-one can handle rejection indefinitely. There are so many people who want to support you through this, including your family. Don't push them away.'

Dynasty nestled closer while some part of her mind mocked her for being like this with a teacher. 'What should I do?'

She felt Mrs Mulgrew's breath ruffle her hair. 'Take the first step. If they're at court today stop and say hello—and perhaps later you should say something to Kacey too. Mr Clarkson tells me she's been very upset over all of this.'

Dynasty drew a shaky breath of guilt. 'She 'as. I asked 'er if she was OK yesterday but… I didn't really listen to what she said, I was too busy with meself to think about 'er.'

'That's understandable,' Mrs Mulgrew said quietly. 'But she's still your little sister and I know how much you love her. Give her some time today, yeah?'

Dynasty nodded, sniffing hard as her headmistress's hand skimmed over her hair, smoothing its morning frizz.

'What about breakfast?' Mrs Mulgrew suggested brightly, pulling back. 'It's going to be a long day. What do you fancy?'

Dynasty's chancy stomach rolled again and she sat up with a grimace. 'Nothin'. I'm so tied up inside, like, that I can't even think about food.'

'It wouldn't be much anyway,' the Head remarked as they rose from the sofa. 'There's a reason I let Connor do the cooking. Ah, here they come now. Right on time, you lot!'

Connor grunted and moved to the cupboard, expertly ducking the caressing hand his mother tried to pass over his hair. Dynasty caught Imogen's eye and suddenly they were both giggling while Mrs Mulgrew grinned and Kevin blinked blearily at them like a confused stork.

'What's the joke?'

'You wouldn't get it,' Dynasty told him as she went to kiss him good morning, a smile blossoming when he made a pleased little sound and wrapped his arms around her waist. 'Too early for you, int' it?'

He grumbled in protest and she hid another smile in his collar bone, suddenly feeling much better about the day to come. Mrs M was right, after all: she truly wasn't alone.

* * *

**7.30am, Barry House**

* * *

'Kace! Get a move on, kid, you can't hide in there all day.'

Kacey double checked the bathroom door, puffing a tiny breath of relief when she confirmed that it was indeed locked. She was safe. She slid down the wall so that she was sitting knees to chest on the floor, ignoring the cold from the tiles that radiated up through buttocks and torso. At least she was sheltered with easy access to a loo and water, and what else did you need, after all? Most importantly, she was _safe_. The bathroom was on the first floor and not easily accessible from the ground, and the door was one of the heavy old-fashioned kind that could only be forced open with brute force and a heavy implement.

'Aw, come on, love,' her mother called again, her tone changing from annoyed to wheedling. 'I'm not doin' this to make yer life a misery, Kace, serious. I told yer. It's to make you 'arder to _find_—'

'If you really cared you'd have done what miss said an' got me police protection,' Kacey shouted back. 'That'd be better than this, yer just usin' this as an excuse to try to turn me into a proper girl!' She shivered; the tights and too-large skirt that she'd been forced into were not as warm as her beloved trousers and autumn was rapidly turning to winter outside. 'I'm not movin', Mum, so leave us alone, will yer?'

'And what will Dyn think of that, eh?' her mother demanded with a thump on the door for emphasis. ''Ere I am, tryin' to convince 'er that we love 'er regardless, and you won't even move to show yer support!'

Unseen, Kacey flinched and hugged her knees tighter as another shiver went through her. That _stung_. Dynasty was probably the most important person in Kacey's life; the one person who'd been there for her time and time again, no matter what. It was more than could be said for either her mother or Barry, and for a moment the words Carol wanted to hear trembled on her lips.

And then she remembered the reason for the rift. Barry had taken great pleasure in explaining it, how Dynasty—when offered the choice between ''aving 'er own way in court' and protecting her little sister—had chosen to go court. Intellectually Kacey understood and even agreed, but deep inside there was a raw pain, a barely articulated sense of betrayal.

'You go,' she shouted. 'I'll be well good here, honest I will.'

'No chance sunshine!' Carol returned with another rattle of the door. 'D'you want us reported? 'Cos that's what yer beloved head teacher will do if you don't show without a good reason. Crackin' down on truancy, an' all, and you've got a record.'

That gave Kacey pause before she recalled a detail she'd overheard the previous day. 'Mrs Mulgrew's not in. She's goin' to court wiv Dynasty, ain't she? Mr Clarkson'll be in charge today, an' 'e won't mind. He'll understand.'

'Don't be stupid, Kace, 'e's a teacher, not yer dad! He'll 'ave to do what 'is boss tells 'im, just like you're a kid who has to do what your ma says. Come on, love, come out. You're worryin' me now and Barry's threatening to crap on the stairs if you don't let us in.'

For the first time in days Kacey was surprised into laughter. She could just imagine it, Barry holding himself and swearing, and a warm feeling went through her when she heard her mother laugh in response. Secretly she'd always loved the sound of Carol's laugh, a gentle ripple that seemed at odds with the rest of the hard-edged woman's demeanour.

'If I go to school—'

'H'mm-mm?' Carol's tone was encouraging.

'How do I know I'll be safe?' Kacey got out. 'I've stayed 'ere all week, or gone to court wiv you like I did yesterday. What if Steve-O gets me?'

She heard a sigh. 'That's why I've dyed yer 'air, love. I wasn't doin' it to be mean. See, Pete an' that lot'll be lookin' for a girl who looks like a boy. If you're a girl who looks like girl they'll not look at yer twice.'

Kacey pulled a lock of hair forward and studied it. It had been transformed from its usual brown lankness into a deep glossy red that suited her oddly well, but she did not see it. All she saw was another attempt to force her into a mould that did not fit.

'I 'ate it,' she muttered. 'If you '_ad_ to dye it, why couldn't yer have done it a normal colour, like blonde or sommat?'

''Cos folk don't always see what's in front o' their faces,' Carol returned smartly. 'Aw, come on babe, just try it. Just until this is over. Barry says this'll be done today. Tomorrow you can dye it back whatever colour you like.'

'Promise?'

'Cross me 'eart.'

Kacey heaved a deep sigh. She genuinely didn't like causing trouble and her mother and Barry were worried enough as it was.

'OK. OK, I'll go to school, but you gotta tell Mr Clarkson I'm scared. He's gotta keep me safe.' She twisted the key as she spoke and the door flew open, her mother reaching out to pull her into the hall. Barry dived past them, slamming the door shut in their faces, and mother and daughter looked at each other and exchanged a grin.

'He's _really_ crappin' 'imself, ain't he?' Kacey remarked with a smirk.

'He wasn't kidding,' Kacey's mum said as she put her hand on the girl's shoulder and pushed her down the stairs to await Barry. 'It'll be fine,' she continued, her hands coming to rest on Kacey's shoulders and giving her a slight shake. 'Trust your mam on this. Barry's watchin' out for you too.'

_But not Dynasty_ came unbidden to Kacey's mind. She pushed it away. She wouldn't think like that. Dynasty loved her, she was sure of it.

Barry came clunking down the stairs, one hand doing his fly. 'Ready, kid?'

She nodded.

He smiled at her, the old familiar smile, and twisted a lock of newly-red hair around his finger. 'Quite the little 'eartbreaker like this, aren't you, babe? Dyn'll lose her beauty crown if you keep this up.'

Kacey's smile went rigid. He didn't understand; she didn't think he even wanted to. But he was still her brother and when his eyes were full of affection like this it was possible to forget that, forget all the months of coldness. Right now he was the brother she'd always hero-worshipped and when he held his fist for her to punch she matched the gesture with enthusiasm.

'C'mon, Munch,' Barry said, slinging his arm around her shoulders and walking her out the door. 'Let's get you to school. Clarkson'd better watch out for you today or 'e won't know what's 'it 'im. And Mum an' me, we'll sort our Dynasty. By tonight us Barrys'll be fine again, you'll see!'

* * *

**8.00am, School House**

* * *

Jasmine's fork rifled through the plate of scrambled eggs before her, scattering and re-scattering them over the plate. She hated eating breakfast and had long got out of the habit, but when she tried to evade it that morning (having refused to eat dinner the night before) Mrs Budgen had literally frog-marched her down to the dining room, ignoring the moment of silence that fell as they entered.

'I'm not havin' any of yous lot keel over in lessons 'cos you 'aven't eaten,' she scolded lightly as she placed the plate in front of Jasmine. 'Some caterin' manager they'd think me, an' all! Besides,' she added, leaning over to whisper in Jasmine's ear, 'if it don't look like I'm takin' care of you right, that Audrey'll be on me case. So eat up, flower, go on!'

Reluctantly, Jasmine had agreed. She couldn't help liking Mrs Budgen, although the woman's easy physicality with her charges always made her twitch. Touch—kind, unthreatening touch—was something she'd learned to live without, and it took huge effort not to flinch or twitch every time Mrs B hugged her or put a hand on her shoulder. She was just being kind, she didn't know.

And at least she didn't pry, not like Miss McFall. The history teacher kept taking her aside to remind her that she was Jasmine's Head of House as well as her teacher and that she would listen to anything—_anything_—Jasmine wanted to tell her. Sometimes the girl wondered if Mrs Mulgrew had said something, but there was a quality to McFall's eagerness to help that told her that the Head had largely kept her own counsel. She was grateful for that, at least. Talking about the abuse she'd endured to Mrs Mulgrew had brought it all back and now it haunted her dreams by night as well as making her anxious and over-sensitive by day. She could not, would not, talk about it to anyone else. Perhaps it was just as well that the juvenile portion of the School House had rediscovered the custom of sending people to Coventry and out of school hours none of her contemporaries wanted to talk to her at all. Which suited her just fine. She didn't need anyone; she'd lived her life wholeheartedly loving only one person, and now he'd seem to forget her too. She would never love or trust again, she swore it.

Someone broke into her thoughts by dropping an stamped envelope in front of her and she glanced up, startled.

'Don't you ever check your post?' Rhiannon hissed, her black eyes hostile. 'You're supposed to check every day, you know. Otherwise the box gets blocked for the rest of us.' She swept off to sit with Harley and the ever-present Lula, and Jasmine was once again alone.

She tried to ignore the envelope. It looked very official with the court stamp in the upper right hand corner and her skin goosepimpled. The postmark was from several days ago; she'd known the letter was there, she'd just believed that if she didn't pick it up someone would consider it rubbish and eventually dispose of it.

No such luck.

She pushed her plate of literally scrambled scrambled eggs away, hoping that it looked as if she'd eaten more than she had, and reached out to gingerly draw the envelope closer. The typescript letters danced in front of her eyes and a hard ball of anxiety settled deep in her gut, causing even the few bits of egg that she _had_ eaten to churn unpleasantly. Nausea was succeeded by a knee-weakening surge of heat that left her mouth dry and her vision darkening—and for a handful of seconds she was not altogether aware of her surroundings until she came back to herself and found an alarmed looking Miss McFall bending over her.

'What happened?' the newly appointed house mistress demanded. 'You looked as though you were going to pass out.'

Jasmine shook her head, one hand going to surreptitiously slide the letter away from the older woman's gaze—but it was too late. Miss McFall's bird-like gaze had already spotted it.

'You got your letter, then,' she said, indicating it with a nod of her head. 'Aren't you going to open it?' Her eyes were more bird-like than ever, bright and curious, and Jasmine shivered. She hated birds. Those beady, regularly blinking eyes gave her the creeps. Her hold on the envelope tightened.

'I'll check it later,' she said, pushing herself to her feet. Her knees still trembled wildly, but Miss McFall mustn't know that.

The house mistress looked dubious. 'Are you sure, dear? It looks rather important.'

'I said I'll check it later!' Jasmine flared, jerking away from the older woman's startled hold and stumbling out of the dining room, out the front door and down the three steps that led to the drive. Another few steps took her round the side of the house and she finally allowed herself to be sick, gasping and shuddering as she disposed of the remnants of her breakfast over the frosted weeds. At last she leaned back against rough stone walls and wiped her sleeve across her mouth. Her vision was odd, distorted by dancing light and pixelated colours, but at least her mind was clear and she felt ready to open the letter and deal with whatever it contained.

She took a deep breath and ripped the envelope open with a finger nail, forefinger and thumb poised to pull out the papers within.

She never got that far. A hand holding an intensely scented cloth clapped over her mouth and nose, cutting off her oxygen and staying there while she struggled, the letter floating unseen to the ground. Already weak to begin with, the struggles were futile and it was not long before she descended into oblivion.

* * *

So… did anyone see that coming? And does anyone care to hazard a guess re what's coming next? :)


	20. Episode 5-2

_I've got to say, I'm not too happy about this part. It feels a bit… meh. However, there's some hooks so…!_

_Thanks must go to __**Guest, Guest, I-Wish-Upon-Falling-Stars, Jessiekat89, Guest **__and__** Paisley**__. A lot of guests this time—but thanks, whoever you are. The lot of you have made my day(s) since posting the last part!_

_As always, don't stint on the feedback. I'm honestly pretty thick skinned about my writing—the results of working with an editor and putting a PhD thesis together—so if there's something you don't like or you don't think works, don't be afraid to say so. At the very least I'll think it over. _

_Oh…Tom fans should be happy. Lots of not-dead-Tom. May as well get a good fix before WR returns on 5 September!_

* * *

**8.00am, Head's Office**

* * *

Tom was enjoying himself. He could count on one hand the number of times he'd been left in sole charge of Waterloo Road, and today—just for today—he would be the Big Man. He sank into the luxuriously padded chair that had been acquired for Michael Byrne and plonked his feet on the table, relishing the momentary thrill of power.

Unfortunately for that, the door swung open and Waterloo Road's true Head entered—only to stop abruptly when she caught sight of him. He reacted instantly, his feet skimming off the glass surface so rapidly that it was a wonder he didn't knock anything over. 'Er, Christine—'

Her stare was rapidly turning into a look of frank amusement. 'Having fun?'

Tom's ears went hot and began to stutter like one of their charges. 'I—I'm sorry, I couldn't resist the temptation.' He glanced at her before admitting, sheepishly, 'I've always wanted to do that.'

He was relieved when she began to laugh. Behind her, through the still open door, he could see a collection of curious teenagers and the sight recalled him to the events of the day. He rose, suddenly concerned.

'Has something changed? Aren't you going to court today?'

Christine's mirth faded so abruptly that he felt guilty. 'Yeah.' She looked back towards the kids with a sigh. 'I wanted to check in here first—and leave Imogen.'

Tom's eyebrows went up. 'I'm sure she's not happy about that.'

Christine's smile was wry. 'She isn't.' She turned. 'OK, you lot, stop littering up the outer office or Sonya will have a fit. Find somewhere to wait until I'm ready for you.'

'Can we have a drink?' Connor asked, pausing at the door that connected the office to the staffroom. Oddly, he seemed the most relaxed of them all.

'You can if you wash your cups afterwards,' his mother retorted, and Tom found himself suppressing a grin when Connor waved her off and vanished, Kevin in tow.

The girls, on the other hand, chose to enter the Head's office arm-in-arm and Tom took the opportunity to examine Dynasty. She was garbed as usual in her own embellished version of the school uniform—but the curly hair was tightly restrained in the neatest chignon he'd ever seen her wear, and her makeup did little to compensate for her pallor or the dark rings around her eyes.

He went to put a friendly hand on her shoulder. 'How're you doing?'

The corners of her mouth trembled as a shoulder hitched in a token shrug. 'Oh, you know me, sir. Survivin'. S'only way, innit?'

'What kind of talk is that?' he teased gently. 'Where's our indomitable Dynasty? You'll do more than survive, my lass, you'll _triumph_.'

A spark lit in the blue eyes facing his, and her chin lifted. 'Course I will. I'm a Barry, aren't I? Nothin' gets _me_ down for long!'

'Now _there_ speaks the Dynasty we know and love,' Christine told her, giving her a one-armed hug. Someone yelled from the staffroom and she groaned, half turning towards Tom. 'Oh dear, that sounds like George.'

'Is 'e always so grumpy, miss?' Dynasty asked. She had not moved from Christine's side, Tom noted.

The Head grinned. 'Always. Application of coffee helps, but only a bit. Morning, George,' she continued as the Languages teacher barged into her office, glaring.

'Why are your kids in _our_ room, Chrissie?' he demanded, sounding mortally offended as he flung an accusatory hand in the direction of the boys, who'd followed him laden with mugs and cups that they duly handed round. 'Bad enough that we need to be subjected to them during lesson hours; why must they be endured at this unconscionable hour—and to add insult to injury, the little rotters have stolen all— the—coffee!' He could not have sounded more outraged if he tried, and Tom winked in Dynasty's direction, surprising a genuine smile from her.

'Oh, for Pete's sake, can't you cut them some slack for once?' Christine responded impatiently, gently putting Dynasty to one side and going to rifle through some papers on her desk. 'It's only once in a way—and for a little while at that.' She glanced at her watch. 'Imogen!'

Tom watched with interest as Connor nudged Imogen and the girl turned to face her mother-in-law with a smile. 'Want me?'

'When you've finished your coffee I think you'd better go to your form room and make sure everyone gets a copy of this.' She handed the sheaf of papers to the younger woman, and Imogen's large eyes went round as she came to take them.

'What are they?'

Her mother-in-law gave George a grim smile. 'Prefect application forms.'

George groaned sepulchrally and Tom had to struggle to pull his face straight while Imogen gaped.

'You want me to do _this_? _Today_?!'

'Give you something else to think about.' Christine ushered her into the outer office and Tom heard her say, 'The others can do them later, but I want you to do your best with them now. I know you'd rather be with us, but—honestly—you'd struggle, wouldn't you?'

Imogen's dark head fell forward before inclining in reluctant agreement.

Christine smiled. 'Good. I'll see you later and we'll keep you posted in the meantime. George!'

George Windsor jumped to attention at her tone, his scowl deepening as he attempted to return to his usual nonchalant manner as inconspicuously as possible.

'You called, my lady?' he drawled.

'Don't be annoying,' Christine told him from the doorway, folding her arms. 'Come on. Help us out a bit here, OK? I need you to cover wherever it's necessary today—and _without_ complaining, if you don't mind.' George looked insulted, but Christine continued regardless. 'And don't look at me like that. I know what you're like, and I don't want to be greeted next week with an overflowing inbox full of complaints about you. Understood?'

George's left eyebrow could go no higher, and once again Tom found himself struggling to keep a straight face as the other man said, gloomily, 'You're the boss.'

'H'mmm. You can start by taking my daughter-in-law to her form room where you're covering registration for Tom.'

Accompanied by a mildly protesting Imogen, George obeyed—looking rather as though he'd swallowed a whole lemon—and Tom turned to Christine with a smirk. 'So _that's_ how you keep him in line.'

She came to lean against the edge of her desk. 'Contrary to popular wisdom, he'll respond to vinegar over honey any time.'

'_Very_ contrary,' Tom grinned, relishing the way her eyes laughed at him. 'Hey,' he went on, his tone softening. 'Meant to say. I had fun the other night.'

Her eyes dropped, her fingers rubbing along the sharp edge of her desk before she finally glanced up. 'Me too.'

They exchanged small smiles, suddenly acutely conscious of the presence of the other—never to mention that of their little audience at the other side of the room.

Tom forced himself to be professional. 'What time d'you need to be in court?'

The tiny lines around Christine's mouth deepened as she glanced towards Dynasty, seated between Kevin and Connor at the table and apparently deeply engrossed in the monster mug of coffee Kevin had given her.

'Half nine,' she said at last. 'Kevin's due to go in at ten.'

'And then?'

'Connor and Barry. I understand Jasmine Maguire was called as well.'

Tom's eyebrows went up at that intelligence. 'For the prosecution or defence?'

Christine winced. 'For the defence,' she admitted softly.

'That's won't end well,' he said, nodding in the direction of the threesome at the table. 'There's already been bad blood between her and your gang this term.'

Her eyes widened. 'They're not _all_ mine.'

'Might as well be,' he teased. ''Fess up. Kevin and Dynasty have spent most of the past week at yours, haven't they?'

'So what if they have?' Her gaze turned steely and he realised he'd put her on the defensive.

'Sorry, I didn't mean it like that. I couldn't talk anyway, I've done it myself too many times.'

She studied the carpet. 'Audrey's already accused me of lacking professionalism where Dynasty's concerned,' she said quietly. 'She might have had a point. Tom, I—'

Without thinking, he reached to put a hand on her shoulder, allowing it to slide down to give her upper arm a reassuring squeeze. 'It's all right. You don't have to explain. I understand and I've got your back on this one, OK?'

She nodded, the tension in her expression dissipating. 'Thanks.'

Once again their eyes met and Tom realised his hand was still on her arm. A confused jumble of words threatened to spill, a suggestion that they eat again later, or meet in the pub—or—or…

The door burst open and Carol Barry stood there, arms folded, one foot tapping the floor ominously.

'_So_. What d'you call this, eh?' She surged forward, heading for Christine. 'Today's supposed to be about our Dyn, eh, and here y'are, spoonin' with this'un! As fer _you_,' she went on, showering Tom with a few drops of spittle as she turned, 'Your job today is lookin' out for our Kace, got it, mate? If anyone so much as harms a _single_ hair on 'er head, you'll pay for it. No-one hurts a Barry and gets away with it, do you hear?'

'But that's not exactly true, is it,' Dynasty shouted across the room. 'Because accordin' to _you,_ it was OK for Steve-O to rape me, _and_ it's OK for 'im to not be punished lawfully. That's what you an' Barry told me!'

Tom found himself looking at Kacey, who was standing behind her mother at the door. She looked smaller than ever, crushed by the rage of her mother and sister, and compassion filled him.

'Mrs Barry, I promise Kacey will be safe,' he assured the girl's mother, cutting across a new argument between her and Dynasty. 'Kace, are you happy to spend break and lunch with me? We've loads of work to do sorting out the team anyway,' he added with a grin and was rewarded when Kacey's face lit up as she nodded eagerly.

'That's all arranged then, isn't it?' Christine said briskly with a glance towards her watch. 'Time's passing, people. I think we'd better get on or we'll be late.'

Carol's angry mien softened as she looked at her daughter and held out a hand to her. 'Comin', babe?'

Dynasty shrank away from it and Carol's jaw hardened.

'Fine. Be that way. I'll see you later once it's all over. Come on, Kace.' She swept away but Kacey did not follow, choosing instead to remain at the office threshold, staring at Dynasty with hungry eyes.

'Go on,' Tom heard Christine murmur to the elder Barry girl. 'Talk to her. You've got time. Boys, go and wait for us in the crush hall. We'll be along in a moment.'

Subdued now that the moment was at hand, the boys obeyed, Kevin giving Kacey a supportive clap on the shoulder as he passed. That was typical of Kevin, Tom knew; the boy could be wisecracking little git, but his heart was in the right place and he was more observant than others often gave him credit for.

'Munch—' Dynasty whispered, holding out her arms. 'C'mon. Give us a hug.'

Kacey stared at her for a long moment before throwing herself across the room and into her sister's arms.

'I though you'd stopped carin' about me,' Tom heard her say. 'I was so scared, Dyn. So scared.'

Dynasty's arms tightened around her little sister, her chin resting on Kacey's head. 'Don't be daft. I'd never stop carin' for you. I couldn't. You're me baby sister, the only one I've got. I'm here for you, whatever, whenever. You remember that, eh?'

'But Barry said—'

'Barry nothin'. He doesn't know as much as 'e thinks he does,' Dynasty commented critically, sounding and looking like herself for the first time that morning. 'I'm doin' what needs to be done, Kace. D'you get that?'

Kacey's answer was another fierce hug, and Tom and Christine found themselves smiling at each other.

'You'd better go,' Tom mouthed, tapping his wrist.

She nodded. 'Come on, Dynasty.'

The sisters parted, Kacey falling back to stand by Tom while Dynasty drifted towards Christine. Just before they left the room, Dynasty turned, one hand on the doorframe.

'Munch?'

'H'mmm?'

'Do us a favour. No matter what, keep the 'air. It looks dead good!' She winked and departed, and Tom grinned to himself when he saw how Kacey's hands flew to her newly ruddy lucks, her expression turning thoughtful as she passed the lengths through her fingers.

It was the first time he'd seen her act like a girl.

**10.45am, Crush Hall**

'You have _got_ to be joking!' Thus Lula as the bell went for break at the end of their History lesson, the statement delivered with all the drama that Lula Tsibi gave even her smallest utterances. 'You're seriously going to spend _all_ of your free time with Mr Clarkson instead of us today? But today, he is the 'ead teacher! You cannot do that!'

'Who says?' Harley chipped in, rolling his eyes. 'Head teacher or not, it's still Mr Clarkson. He's cool. There's worse people she could spend the time with.'

'But—' Lula began as she followed him into the hall.

'Look,' Kacey interrupted, 'I'll tell yer, but only if you promise not to blab.'

Lula looked offended. 'Me? I never blab. Never!'

'Don't worry, Kace,' Harley told her, grinning. 'I'll keep an eye on 'er. You go ahead and spill!'

Kacey chewed her lip, doubting her decision. Could they be trusted? The events of the past weeks—months, even—had her doubting and second-guessing everyone, including herself.

'Kace?' Harley prompted, his eyes concerned.

She pressed her lips together and reached to grab their elbows. 'It's to stay safe, see. 'Cos our Dyn's still testifyin', ain't she? And I've been threatened.' Her skin prickled as she remembered what Barry had told her of the most recent threat, and she shivered.

Lula's eyes were round. 'By who?'

'Steve-O's mates, of course,' Harley answered for Kacey, bumping her shoulder with his. 'Hey. Is there anything we can do to help?'

She managed a smile, her nerves twitching as the crush hall filled with the noise and chaos of the average break. It was time to get to Mr Clarkson. 'Nah. 'M good. Clarkson'll keep us safe.'

'Sure.' His smile was shy. 'Look, Lu and I'll stay close, 'K? Just in case?'

She nodded gratefully and began to make her way towards the office with the sound of another Lula—Harley altercation in the background. This time she was objecting to sharing a name with a toilet, and Kacey was still grinning when Mr Clarkson exited his temporary abode to welcome her.

'Hi, Kacey,' he greeted, handing a bundle of papers to Sonya before putting his hands on her shoulders and studying her gravely. 'You look happier,' he commented at last. 'Something funny?'

She adjusted her bag strap, still smirking. 'Just Lula, sir.'

'Hmmm, yeah. Comin' in? Oh, would you like something to drink? Sonya'll get it for us.'

'Too right I will,' the secretary put in with a touch of acerbity. ''Cause it's not as if I've anything better to do, is it.'

'I'm OK, honest,' Kacey told her hurriedly, aware her cheeks were flaming. 'Don't go to no trouble.'

'Don't be silly, it's no trouble,' Sonya scolded. 'Away you go an' get all comfy and I'll do me best for you. What it'll be? Juice? Coffee? A drop o' rosie?'

'You what?' Kacey was a Scouser. Cockney slang was alien to her.

'Tea, she means,' Mr Clarkson interpreted while Sonya nodded enthusiastic agreement.

Kacey adjusted her strap again as she tried to think of the correct response. Sonya looked so eager to help that she hated to disappoint, and Mr Clarkson's blue eyes were far too perceptive.

'I'll 'ave black tea, please,' she decided at last. No milk, therefore few calories. Tea was safe and it'd be nice to tell Harl and Lula about later, about how she'd been treated like a grownup visitor instead of a kid.

She followed Mr Clarkson to the round table at the back of the Head's office. It was covered with papers which the Deputy Head gathered into a pile. A couple remained; these he pointed out.

'Game positions for the girls' team,' he explained. 'I'm making a right old mess of it. Wanna cast your eye over it and see if you can do better?'

She took a seat, beaming. 'Aw, sir, you know I can!'

'Get cracking, then,' he advised, sitting opposite. 'No time to waste!'

She took the hint and studied the list intently, chewing the pen he'd left for her. There was some good ideas and some that were plain daft in her opinion; she began to cross out his scribblings and jot down her own thoughts, her pen moving more quickly than ever it did in lessons. She was only vaguely aware of Mr Clarkson humming as he worked, of Sonya's entrance with their drinks.

In fact, she was not totally roused from her absorption until Mr Clarkson's phone went, the shrill ringtone breaking through her football-haze and recollecting the events of the day. She dropped her pen, the biro clattering against the laminate table as he lifted the phone to his ear.

'Christine.'

Kacey tensed, watching as his expression changed. Mrs Mulgrew seemed to be having a good deal to say.

'OK,' he said after bit. 'OK, we'll check it out and get back to you. Try not to worry.' He rang off, looking grave.

Kacey licked dry lips. 'Sir? What's 'appened?'

He rubbed his hands over his face. 'You know Jasmine Maguire was summoned to court?'

Her eyes went wide. ''Er? After all she said about Dyn? But why?'

'She was summoned for the defence,' Mr Clarkson explained softly. 'Character witness, I think. She hasn't turned up and she's not answering her phone.'

'Maybe she didn't want to be a character witness for 'im,' Kacey suggested. 'Couldn't blame 'er. He's horrid, Steve-O.'

'Yeah, but he did try to be a good brother to her,' Mr Clarkson said. 'Hey. Thought you and her were by way of being friends?'

Kacey grimaced. '_Were_, sorta. Before she started spoutin' all that about our Dynasty, like. Not _proper_ friends, but we'd kick a ball about. Thought she might join the team, but she never.'

'H'mm. OK, Kace, there's the bell now and I need to sort this—'

'Harley might know,' Kacey interrupted before he could dismiss her. She didn't know why she wanted to help Jasmine, but the prickling feeling she'd had all day was stronger now.

'Good thought,' Mr Clarkson agreed. 'I'll call him in.'

'No need, sir,' Kacey returned, bounding to her feet. 'He's close, I know it. Back in a mo!'

It took only seconds to grab Harley and Lula and bring them to the office, Lula speculating wildly as they went. To Harley, Kacey only said, 'Jasmine's gone,' and the prickling sensation rippled unpleasantly down her spine when his dark eyes turned thoughtful.

'Somethin' was going on with her at brekker,' he began slowly once they were in front of Mr Clarkson. 'There was some letter, it's been there for days and she never lifted it. Rhiannon gave her it this morning, she was mad 'cos the letter was takin' up space in the mail box. A brown thing, with a big stamp. Jas didn't want nothing to do with it, an' when Miss McFall tried to make 'er she yelled and run off.'

'Did Miss McFall follow her?'

'Rhiannon said not to bother, and McFall started flappin' about bein' on time for school, you know what she's like.'

'And no-one's seen Jasmine since then?' the Deputy Head pressed.

'Don't think so, sir. She weren't with us when we came over.'

Kacey saw Mr Clarkson's jaw harden. 'And no-one thought to report it?' Harley looked guilty, and the older man sighed. 'Never mind, Harl. It's not your fault. Go on, off you go to your next lesson.'

Harley and Lula could not leave the room fast enough, but Kacey's legs had gone wobbly from fear and little food. She grabbed the door frame to steady her and turned back to her mentor.

'Sir—'

'Yep?'

'You find 'er,' she told him fiercely. 'I don't care what she's done, but if the ones who's got 'er are anything like them'uns who threatened me… Just find 'er, yeah?'

Mr Clarkson surprised her by coming to give her a quick hug, his arms enfolding her in a warmth and security that she hadn't known in… longer than she cared to think. She buried her face in the scratchy softness of his jacket.

'I'm scared, sir,' she murmured. 'Scared for all of us.'

'We'll find her,' Mr Clarkson promised, his breath warm on her hair. 'Don't fret, Kace. We'll find her and keep her safe, keep all of you safe.'

The words were brave, assertive, but Kacey knew that he could not promise that. No-one could.

* * *

TBC...


	21. Episode 5-3

_Did I say Kevin would be first? I lied._

_And I'm very sorry for the long delay and the lack of responses to reviews; for once, I'll do that after posting as I want to get this up! I've spent most of the past week fighting a nasty cold and trying to get my head around this part. Let's just say I don't think court scenes are my forte, so I'll be _very_ interested to know what you think of these bits._

_Anyway, enjoy__—and, as ever, review!_

* * *

**10.45am, Glasgow High Court**

* * *

Christine sat with Dynasty behind a glass screen through which they could see the witness box and the jury, but not Steve-O. To the left was the public gallery where Carol Barry was sitting. The court had asked Dynasty who she wanted with her, and she'd been unequivocal that she wanted Christine and no-one else. Christine had cringed at that; Carol's slumped shoulders as she left them had proclaimed her hurt, and the Head made a mental note that later she would sit Dynasty down and attempt to heal the breach between mother and daughter.

'Miss, Connor's coming on now,' Dynasty told her, almost as if they were watching a performance.

Christine nodded and leaned forward in order to see her son through the one-way pane. He looked tiny in the witness box, dwarfed by the high ceiling and oceans of engineered wood. The light was cruel, turning him an unhealthy shade of grey, and she dug her nails into her palm when she saw the uncertain glance he sent towards them. Forgetting he would not be able to see, she raised a hand and placed it on the glass.

And then the questioning started, the advocate for the defence coming forward with a sweep of black robes, and she turned to Dynasty with a strained smile as they both focused on the TV screen before them, the screen that brought them right into the centre of the trial itself.

'Tell us how you came to know of the alleged rape of Dynasty Barry,' the advocate barked, eyes regarding Connor sternly over his half-moon glasses.

'Her boyfriend t—told me.'

'So you didn't know at the time?'

'No, not until the next week when she told Kevin and he told me.'

'Did you believe him?'

'I…well, uh. Yes. Of course, he's me best mate, he wouldn't lie about something like that.'

'And you'd know all about lying, wouldn't you, Mr Mulgrew?'

Christine gasped.

'Objection!' the prosecuting lawyer shouted, jumping up from her place like a jack in the box.

The defence advocate transferred his glare from Connor to his colleague. 'I'm attempting to establish the witness's credibility.'

'Objection overruled,' the judge ordained with a nod. 'Pray continue.'

'Isn't it true, Mr Mulgrew, that this is not your first encounter with the law? My understanding is that you're presently on probation as a result of an arson charge.'

'T-that was ages ago,' Connor stammered, turning red then white. 'It's got nothing to with this.'

'But you and your mother _did_ lie to the police on that occasion, despite the fact that a fellow pupil was seriously injured.'

Connor's eyes went wild, skittering about the court. Christine gripped the rail in front of her and rested her forehead on her hands, regret washing through her for her part in that. Connor _had_ wanted to tell the truth, after all…

'Please answer, Mr Mulgrew,' the advocate said sternly. 'Are you or are you not on probation for arson?'

'Yes, sir.'

'And the charge of lying to the police is also true?'

Christine's eyes closed as she heard Connor mutter, 'Yes, sir,' reluctance clear in every note.

The advocate gave a satisfied sniff that was all too audible.

'Moving on, then. Mr Mulgrew, please tell the court of your version of events on the day you discovered the alleged rape.'

Connor shuffled awkwardly, his fingers tugging at his cuffs as the advocate leaned on the rail that separated them. Even his shoulders radiated impatience with the younger man's slowness to respond.

'Mr Mulgrew, did you accompany Mr Chalk to an abandoned warehouse where you hoped to confront my client?'

'I…yes, sir.'

'What happened next?'

'There—there was a lot of shouting. A—and then, before we knew it, Steve-O had us up against a wall and was threatenin' us with a gun.'

'Ah yes, the gun charge. Where did the gun come from?'

Connor was silent.

'Mr Mulgrew, did Mr Malone draw that gun?'

Again, Connor was silent.

The judged leaned towards him, his wig slipping. 'Mr Mulgrew, please answer the question.'

Connor glanced at him, the whites of eyes showing. 'No. No, he didn't.'

The lawyer turned to the jury. 'Did you hear that, ladies and gentlemen of the jury? The witness states that the defendant did _not_ draw the gun. Mr Mulgrew, I ask you again. Where did the gun come from?'

Connor fidgeted and Christine groaned. Even she had to confess that he wasn't doing a very good job as a witness; if she was faced with a pupil exhibiting that body language, she too would find herself questioning that pupil's veracity.

'It was just… lying around,' Connor said.

There was a long pause before the lawyer repeated in a mocking tone, 'Just…lying around, eh? H'mm. Mr Mulgrew, you had a bone of your own to pick with my client, didn't you.'

Connor's head snapped up, his jaw clenching. 'Yeah. He was blackmailin' us.'

'Blackmailing you? Blackmail suggests that you had something to hide. What was it?'

Christine closed her eyes. If only she hadn't been such a terrible mother. If only Connor had trusted her enough to tell her of his marriage at the time.

Her son shrugged. 'He broke into our house and found my marriage lines. He knew we didn't want our parents finding out, so—'

'Wait a minute. You're claiming that Mr Malone "broke into" your house? Why wasn't this included on the list of charges?'

Connor's head fell forward.

'Well?' The lawyer's tone was sharp. 'Didn't your parents have anything to say about that?'

'The—the house was my mum's b—boyfriend's,' Connor stuttered, and Christine covered her face with her hands. 'I did tell 'im, 'cos at that point Steve-O was after me for money he said I owed him. I told Michael about the break-in and he offered Steve-O money to leave us alone in exchange for keepin' quiet. Steve-O took it and we got most of the stuff back.'

'So, according to you, my client is guilty of larceny, trespass, blackmail and intimidation—even _before_ we come to the charges of rape and possession of a firearm. However, you haven't given us the full story, have you? You say Mr Malone "broke into" your house. Is that true?'

Once again, Connor was quiet.

'Mr Mulgrew, I won't tell you again,' the judge said. 'When Counsel asks a question, you must answer unless it's been overruled.'

Connor was chewing his lip, a habit that he'd had since early childhood. 'He didn't break in,' he blurted. 'It was my fault. I gave him the key, but only 'cos he said he'd only touch my stuff and he lied and ran off with my mum's stuff, and Michael's, so he _did_ steal!'

'It was never reported, so that crime—if it ever occurred—does not exist within these walls,' the lawyer told him with a sneer. 'Similarly, if _you_ gave Mr Malone the key the incident cannot be described as a break-in, can it? Presumably you were not forced to hand it over.'

'I was! He threatened to hurt my wife!'

'Did you report _that_?'

'No,' Connor admitted, his shoulders slumping.

'H'mm. If I may say so, you do seem to have rather a habit of withholding matters from the appropriate authorities, Mr Mulgrew—and without a charge, there is no investigation and thus no proof except your word. And that—as we have already seen—is dubious.'

Connor studied the polished wooden rail before him, refusing to meet anyone's eyes, and Christine sighed, torn between the urge to give him a good shaking and the need to comfort him with a hug.

The advocate was looking altogether too pleased with himself when he turned to the boy for what would prove to be the last time, his hands disappearing into the capacious sleeves of his robe.

'Have you anything further to add?' It was clear from his tone that the question was nothing more than a formality, and Christine could not blame her son when his head jerked up, his lips pinched thin.

'What's the point? You've already decided I'm a liar!'

The judge sighed. 'Mr Mulgrew, do _please_ control yourself.' He transferred his gaze to the advocate. 'Do you have any further questions for this witness?'

The advocate smirked as Connor subsided. 'No, Your Honour.' The smirk deepend as he inclined his head to Connor in a mock bow. 'Thank you, Mr Mulgrew. You've been _very_ helpful. You may leave the court.'

Christine was acutely aware of Dynasty, rigid at her side, as they watched Connor leave the court. His feelings were plain in his dropped shoulders, hands shoved deeply in his pockets, and she braced herself for his imminent entry and Dynasty's response.

She was, therefore, more than a little surprised when the girl observed in a toneless voice, 'That advocate's got it in for us, 'asn't 'e? He went for me an' now Connor. 'E's determined to get Steve-O off.'

Christine watched her pace, anxiety pulsing in her tummy. 'Connor's going to be here any minute. He's going to be upset and I need to know now: do you blame him for what happened out there?'

There was no time for Dynasty to answer, for at that moment the door opened and Connor stumbled in, his composure entirely gone. Christine caught him in her arms and he clutched at her, burying his face in her neck as though he was seven instead of seventeen.

''M sorry, Mum, Dyn,' he mumbled. 'So sorry, I wanted to help an' I've only made it worse, it doesn't matter what the prosecutor says, the jury are gonna see me as a liar and nothin' else… I'm so sorry, please don't hate me—'

Christine was fumbling for something reassuring to say when Dynasty took matters into her own hands by grabbing Connor by the shoulder and twisting him to face her. He looked terrible, his skin blue-grey and his eyes ringed with red, and Christine had to bite her lip to repress the warning that wanted to come when he pressed up against her in his attempt to get away from Dynasty.

That young woman, however, proceeded to take the wind out of his sails—never to mention Christine's—by giving him a good shake followed by a fierce hug that quite literally knocked the breath out of him.

'I could kill you sometimes, Connor Mulgrew,' she told him, her voice shaking. 'What kind of a bitch d'you think I am, eh?' She pulled back to study him. 'I know you did your best, I know what that—that _person_ is like, he did it to me too, an' all.'

'How's Steve-O ever gonna get convicted then?' Connor asked dully. 'If your testimony and mine has been rubbished—'

'We're not done yet,' Dynasty informed him, her eyes hard. 'There's still Kev and Barry to go, isn't there?'

_And Jasmine_, Christine added mentally, withdrawing her phone from her pocket to check it in case the girl had turned up at Waterloo Road after all—but there was no familiar blue box indicating a new message from Tom, and she sighed. Where was Jasmine? Was she safe? And how could she find out without seeming to betray Dynasty?

It was a relief when Connor called her to tell her that Kevin had just taken the stand, and she made herself smile and rejoin the young people, hoping that their confidence in Kevin Chalk and Barry Barry was deserved—because from where she was standing, things were not going well.

* * *

**11.30am, Glasgow High Court**

* * *

Dynasty's teeth bit into her lower lip so deeply that she would later realise she had cut it to the point of bleeding but at this moment she was oblivious to both the discomfort and the metallic taste of blood, for her entire being was focused on Kevin who was repeating the oath.

'Hope he does better than me,' Connor muttered, and she glanced at him sideways. He was not looking at her; he was instead staring at his friend through the pane of glass that separated them, his gaze shadowed.

'You did the best you could,' Mrs Mulgrew told him, and Dynasty could see how the tension in his shoulders eased. Mrs M didn't sound like she was just saying it, she sounded as if she really meant it, and even Dynasty knew enough of Connor's difficult relationship with his mother to appreciate what her approval must mean to him.

She pushed the thought of her own mother out of her mind, deliberately averting her eyes from where that lady was sitting. She'd think about her mum and family later, for now the only thing that mattered was getting Steve-O sent back where he belonged—but the sick feeling she'd been battling for days seemed to be turning to a heavy sense of premonition that made her shiver and pull her jacket more closer about her.

'Here he comes, Steve-O's advocate.' Connor leaned forward. 'He's like a vulture or a bat in that black thing, isn't he?'

Mrs Mulgrew looked amused. 'It's called an academic gown, Connor. Some day you'll wear one yourself, I hope.'

'Great look that'd be on me,' Connor mumbled, not entirely _sotto voce_. 'I'd look more like Dracula than I already do.'

Dynasty shut him up with an elbow in the ribs. 'Will you hush?' she scolded. 'Look, 'e's started on Kev and I can't 'ear a word 'e's sayin' 'cos of you and yer bats.'

Her gave her his characteristically sheepish smile. 'Sorry.'

'H'mm.' She leaned forward, ignoring the screen behind her that would show Kevin in ruthlessly clear high-definition. Looking at him like this, the old fashioned way, seemed to bring him closer.

'So, Mr Chalk, how did you discover the alleged rape?' the advocate was asking.

Dynasty's breath caught; the word 'alleged' lodged in her gullet every time, reminding her that in the eyes of the law Steve-O remained innocent until proven otherwise, no matter what her memory said.

'I—well, uh, D—Dyn an' me, we were in Mr Clarkson's room at school,' Kevin began. 'She'd been weird ever since she finished with me and went back to him. I knew somethin' weren't right.'

'How did you know?'

'Well, she wouldn't look at me that mornin', and she was flinchin' when he touched her. It wasn't just her,' he added defensively. 'It was 'im too, you could see 'e was gloatin'.'

'So… you decided that something—something _sinister_—must have occurred. Then what?'

Kevin brushed twitchily at his fringe and glanced at the advocate through it. 'I asked her. I said I knew he'd done somethin' to 'er.'

'So you initiated the conversation?'

There was a pause. Dynasty hardly dared to breathe lest she be sick. She knew where the advocate was going with this, she just _knew_.

'I… suppose.'

'What did Miss Barry say?'

'She was scared of 'im. She said it was nothin', she didn't want 'im to come after me. That's why she broke up with me, 'cos she was scared Steve-O'd kill me if we didn't.'

'That's a remarkably egotistical assertion, Mr Chalk,' the advocate said in his smarmiest manner. 'Did you never consider that perhaps she simply preferred my client to you? A man instead of a boy that she apparently described as a "little dog"?'

Kevin whitened and Dynasty's hand went once again to the glass that lay between them.

_Don't believe 'im, Kev, please,_ she begged mentally. _I only said that 'cos Steve-O had to believe I really wanted back with 'im…_

'At what point did the word "rape" enter the conversation?'

Kevin's shoulders straightened. 'I asked her what he'd done to 'er. I kept askin'. And she looked at me an' she didn't look like my Dynasty, sir. I know her better than anyone else, I do,' he insisted, his fists clenching on the rail. 'She didn't have to tell me. I _knew_.'

'Fascinating. Are you a telepath, Mr Chalk?'

Kevin reddened. 'That's not fair.'

'Neither is it fair to be unjustly accused of rape. Tell me: did Miss Barry at any point state, clearly and without equivocation, that she had been raped by my client?'

Dynasty found herself envying Imogen desperately at that moment. It would have been sheer bliss to turn off her senses and vanish into a little cocoon of her own, a cocoon of blessed ignorance. She could ask her companions to mute the audio, but fear's stranglehold was too tight to allow her voice. Instead all she could do was do huddle down in her chair and clap her hands over her ears, her heart pounding as she waited for Kevin's inevitable response.

It was a long time coming. The advocate had to remind him that he was obliged to answer or be held in contempt of court.

At last he did so in jerky syllables. 'No, she never said 'e raped 'er. I—it was me, I said it.'

The advocate's sigh of triumph was all too audible. He turned towards the jury. 'Did you hear that, ladies and gentlemen? Miss Barry did _not_ at this point state that she was raped by Mr Malone. Our young Mr Chalk here extrapolated that conclusion based on his assumed knowledge of his then ex-girlfriend.' His gown swelled around him as he spun on one heel to confront Kevin once again. 'Did Miss Barry agree that "rape" was a correct descriptor for what had allegedly occurred between herself and my client?'

Kevin seemed to shrink into the witness box. 'No, sir.' It was a whisper. 'She said—she said, "don't use that word".'

Dynasty sat like a statue, beyond touch, beyond feeling. Even the nausea was gone, she was detached from herself. Dimly she knew that someone was calling her, that someone was bending over her, but she did not respond. She could not. Hands went on her shoulders. They were shaking her and she lashed out defensively, caught in a hell that seemed entirely of her own making. It was her fault Steve-O had raped her, it would be her fault if he walked, and the only thing she could think was that this must not happen ever again, that no-one else would ever touch her without her consent…

It was Connor who broke through, his hands closing over hers so tightly that it hurt, the squeeze burning painfully along her fingers and returning her to herself.

'Ouch,' she said in protest and he released her immediately, but he was still leaning over her, his eyes wide and scared.

'Are you OK?'

For once she could not muster her usual insouciant lie; she raised her gaze to his and let it do the talking.

'Oh, Dyn,' he said softly, and she realised in a flash why Imogen loved him; she'd never been able to see it before, the gentle boy behind the quirky, brooding mask. He half-turned from her to his mother, who seemed to be dabbing at her bloody mouth with a hanky. 'Are _you_ OK?'

Guilt ran through Dynasty like a boiling hot drink on a cold day, searingly uncomfortable. 'Did I do that?'

'You didn't mean it,' Mrs Mulgrew told her with a poor attempt at a smile. 'It was my fault. You seemed… not yourself, and I tried to shake you back. I should have known, eh?'

'God, miss, I'm sorry. I'm so sorry.'

Mrs Mulgrew pulled back her hanky a second time and grimaced at it; her lip was split and swollen, evidence of Dynasty's blind panic, and a trace of that panic began to well through her again. Mrs M had been her bulwark through all of this, she could not do without her…

'Miss, I'm sorry,' she repeated frantically when the older woman did not respond. 'I'll do _anythin_' to make up, honest I will.'

'Dynasty, it's fine.' Mrs Mulgrew's slightly impatient tone reassured her as not even gentleness would have done. 'I told you, it was my fault. Of all people, I should have known better. Don't worry about it. Connor, what's the latest?' She gestured towards the large TV.

Her son's expressive face said it all, even before he opened his mouth. 'That vulture's got stitched up. After that stuff about Dyn admittin' it, he's gone on to get Kev to admit that he wanted to go after Steve-O and get him.'

Dynasty's mouth was sand-dry, her breath catching. 'What about the gun?'

'He's comin' to that, I think. Watch.'

Reluctantly, Dynasty obeyed, this time facing the screen instead of the mirrored window. This was the only way she could get through it, by pretending she was watching something on telly, by telling herself that all this had nothing to do with her.

'So, Mr Chalk,' the advocate was saying, 'pray tell the court how you intended to 'get' Mr Malone.'

Kevin muttered something incomprehensible.

'Mr Chalk, please speak up. I realise you're a teenager, but surely it is not beyond you to speak intelligibly.'

There was a ripple of titters from the public gallery, and Connor looked outraged. 'He can't do that!' he hissed. 'Surely they're not allowed to make fun—'

The judge seemed to agree, to Dynasty's delight.

He glared down at the advocate from the bench. 'Counsellor, please refrain from mocking the witness. However Mr Chalk, in essence he is correct. We realise how difficult this is, but if you speak clearly we'll be finished sooner. Understood, my boy?'

'Yessir.'

'Very well, then. Counsellor.'

'Your revenge, Mr Chalk. We want to know about your planned revenge.' The advocate rolled the last word on his tongue lovingly, as though it was a slow-dissolving toffee, and Dynasty glared at the screen.

'I want an appeal,' she said. 'Miss, can I have an appeal?'

Mrs Mulgrew glanced at her. 'Don't speak too soon,' she soothed. 'You might not need it.'

'That's bein' optimistic if you like,' Dynasty muttered. This time it was Connor who told her to hush.

'I wanted to kill 'im,' Kevin admitted loudly, and Dynasty and Connor groaned in unison. 'I wasn't meself, he'd pushed us to the brink, he'd made all our lives a misery. And then when I realised he'd raped Dyn, I—I snapped. I went mad.' He looked pleadingly towards the jury. 'You gotta understand. She's the first person who's ever loved me. I'd do anythin' for her, _anythin_' to keep her safe.'

'Including murder, apparently,' the advocate remarked. 'Mr Chalk, I suggest that you read, learn and inwardly digest the words of John 15:13. That's in the Bible,' he added condescendingly. '"Greater love hath no man than this: that he lay down his life for his friends". _Not_, note, "Greater love hath no man than this: that he kills his friend's enemies".'

'Objection!' the prosecution lawyer shouted, bobbing up, and the judge nodded.

'Sustained. Counsellor, stop lecturing and get to the point.'

He did so, with alacrity.

'How did you plan to kill my client?'

Kevin's answer was equally blunt. 'Shoot 'im and dump 'im in the loch.'

'Idiot!' Connor burst out. 'If he doesn't watch it, he'll find himself inside instead of Steve-O!'

This time it was his mother who urged him to silence as the advocate said, 'Interesting. Do you have a shotgun certificate?'

'No.'

'Ah. So you intended acquiring a firearm illegally. From where, may I ask?'

Kevin was silent.

'Mr Chalk, you are required to answer. Where did you intend to get the gun? Quickly, if you please!'

'I asked Barry Barry,' Kevin admitted. 'He has… connections, he can get anythin'.'

'That is Miss Barry's brother, is it not?'

'Yeah. He said Dynasty had spoken to 'im, he'd asked 'er about the rape and she'd denied it, but he knew she was lyin'. So he said the gun was in a box at the warehouse and he'd set up a meetin' with Steve…'

'And then?'

'We went there, Connor an' me. I—I'm not s—sure what h—happened then,' Kevin continued shakily. 'It's all a bit of a blur. There was no gun, we looked where Barry said, and there was nothin', and then Steve-O was in front of us and he had a gun an' he was pointin' it straight at us and I flipped out and yelled at 'im… and Connor said _shut up_ but I was so angry I couldn't think straight and I kept shoutin' until Steve-O pulled the trigger. I thought it was gonna go off, I expected it to go off, but it didn't. It clicked empty an' we realised we'd been set up by Barry.'

'And then?'

'The police came an' rounded us up and when we got to the station Dyn was there with Mrs Mulgrew and Imogen, reportin' Steve-O for rape.'

'I see. So it was by great good luck and the treachery of Barry Barry that you did not find yourself guilty of murder. Tell me, Mr Chalk, if the gun _had_ been there, and loaded, would you have used it?'

Kevin's eyes were wide and frank. 'I don't know, sir, and that's the honest truth. I don't think so, I hope I wouldn't, I'm not a bad person, sir. But I was angry and—and a bit mad.'

To Dynasty's surprise, the advocate gave her boyfriend a smile. It was a wintery smile, but a genuine smile nonetheless.

'I see. Mr Chalk, let me tell you to look at our defendant today, and think to yourself: there but for the grace of God… You seem an intelligent young man. If you had killed Mr Malone, I think you'd have spent the rest of your life regretting it.'

Kevin's head drooped. 'I know, sir.'

'All right.' He turned to the judge. 'I believe we're done here, Your Honour.'

The judge nodded his dismissal at Kevin, who evacuated himself from the witness box with uncanny speed, and looked at the advocate.

'Do you have any further witnesses, Counsellor?'

'Only one, Your Honour. A character witness for the accused. May I call Miss Jasmine Maguire?'

* * *

TBC

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Don't forget to let me know what you think! :)


	22. Episode 54

_First, huge thanks go the lovely people who reviewed the last two chapters: **I-Wish-Upon-Falling-Stars, Paisley, dustdancingintheflickerlight, Virgo girl 14, and Guest(s)**. Much appreciated, especially for the last chapter when I hadn't got round to replying to reviews for the one before that. And yes, I should be shot for that sentence…._

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**SPOILERS AHOY**

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Anyway, what did you all think of the first ep of S9? I was very amused at the emerging Simon storyline although I do think canon!Simon might be a goody at heart, unlike mine. He's not above doing some manipulating though, so how he fares against Christine—an expert manipulator if ever there was one—remains to be seen. I think it depends on whether or not she can really convince herself that (a) she can be Head and (b) she _deserves_ to be Head. Then she'll really give him and any other comers a run for their money—unless WR does its usual thing and brings in someone completely new for the summer term. I'm hoping Christine stays! But… I want more Kevin/Dynasty and Connor/Imogen so very much looking forward to next week. Also, of course, to see what the Brown twins are planning for Audrey's beloved cat….

N.B.: major SQUEE over the Christine/Audrey friendship scene there! And loving the bristles between Maggie and Audrey. Definitely gonna find a way to do that. Any ideas very welcome so don't be shy!

* * *

_And on with the (virtual) show!_

* * *

_**Previously….**_

* * *

'_Do you have any further witnesses, Counsellor?' _

'_Only one, Your Honour. A character witness for the accused. May I call Miss Jasmine Maguire?'_

* * *

**Noon, Glasgow High Court**

* * *

'What 'appened to '_er_?' Dynasty sounded genuinely shocked as Jasmine was led to the stand, the bruises over her mouth and across a cheekbone glaringly obvious.

'Steve-O did—or his mates, I'm guessing,' Connor said grimly. 'She went missin' this morning, didn't she? Guess this shows why.'

'But she's 'is sister!'

'I don't think he sees it that way—or not in the way you mean,' Christine said softly. 'They're half siblings, not full, and my understanding is that they've only known each other for a short time. Steve-O was taken away from their mother when she left his dad, and he only discovered Jasmine's existence after their mum died—and almost immediately after that Steve-O was prison.'

'Why, Mum?'

Christine glanced at Dynasty, wondering what she'd been told about Steve-O's previous stint in prison. 'Primarily because he beat Jasmine's father to within an inch of his life. They added a string of petty crimes to that, but that was the main charge.'

Dynasty's false eyelashes fell, the long sweep of them brushing her cheek. 'I never knew that.' A tear trickled down and she disposed of it quickly. 'Kace was right all along, weren't she? She always said Steve-O was a bad lad and I was a right idiot for goin' with him.'

Connor put a friendly arm around her shoulders. 'Lucky you're shot of him, eh? With any luck you won't need to worry about him for a long time to come.'

'We hope,' Dynasty sniffed, her head resting companionably on his shoulder as the door opened. 'Oh Kev!' She flung Connor's arm from her and raced across the room to throw herself into Kevin's arms as he entered, nearly as chalkfaced as Connor had been earlier.

'Come and sit down, Kevin,' Christine urged. 'Connor, do you want to see if someone will give us some coffee? It looks as if we could all do with it.'

'I'm fine, Mrs M,' Kevin insisted. His eyes were glittering. 'I wanna see what happens next with Jas. Did you see the state of her? It's worse in real life,' he added as he leaned forward to peer through the mirrored glass at his classmate. 'She's walkin' funny. I think she got well beat up.'

'I don't understand,' Dynasty murmured. 'Us Barrys were threatened to stop us from testifyin', an' she's being threatened _to_ testify? Or is she?'

'I think it's to make sure she _does_ testify,' Christine said, weighing each carefully. 'She's a character witness, isn't she?' Her lips closed in a thin line as she realised she might have already said too much; the kids would probably wonder why Jas, who'd been vociferous in her brother's defence, might now need to be coerced into speaking for him in court—and Christine had no intention of enlightening them.

Fortunately, the questioning started in good earnest at that point and everyone quietened to listen.

'Thank you for coming, Miss Maguire,' the advocate began, sounding considerably more civil than he had whilst questioning Dynasty, Connor or Kevin. 'Please state your full name and relationship to the accused for the record.'

Jasmine raised her head slowly, as though she was in pain. 'Jasmine Maguire, s—sir. And Steve, 'e's me 'alf-brother.'

'On which side?'

'Me mam's. His da beat me mam so she left 'im to start a new life. I knew nothin' about Steve 'til after she died.'

'Is he your only surviving relative?'

'Yeah. 'Cept for me dad, but 'e's shut up.'

'And how old are you now, Miss Maguire?'

'Seventeen, sir. Just on.'

'And you've known my client for—?'

Jasmine began to count on her fingers. 'It's five years since Mam died, and Steve-O turned up when I was fif'een, so… near three years?'

'So he has been, in essence, your legal guardian for that time?'

'Two years. 'Cept when 'e was inside the last time.'

'Has he discharged his obligations to you in that time, insofar as he was able?'

Jasmine blinked. 'Sorry, sir. I don't understand. Can you say it in little words, like?'

Christine caught Dynasty rolling her eyes in derision at that and gave her a hard look. The younger woman flushed and subsided, absently beginning to chew on her painted fingernails.

'I do apologise. What kind of guardian has Mr Malone been to you? Has he ensured that you've had a roof over your head, that all of your needs have been met?'

'Like?' Jasmine sounded genuinely confused.

'Shelter. Food. Warmth. Clothing. Affection. Respect. All of those are needs, Miss Maguire, which any guardian must meet.'

Jasmine shrugged. 'Sure, if you count puttin' me in care after 'e beat me dad up. 'E said 'e couldn't cope wiv lookin' after me, a girl, and 'e had no money to keep me. Then when he got out this last time he looked me up and spun me these fairy tales about how it was all gonna be different from now on, we was gonna go back to Liverpool an' live in one of them fancy flats, just him, me an' Dynasty Barry.'

'Ah, Dynasty. Were you aware of your brother's relationship with her?'

'I knew 'er name. 'E never shut up about her, said she was the love of 'is life. He was made up when he found out we were in the same form at Waterloo Road. Always on at us to be friends, but it didn't work that way. Dynasty an' me, we're too different.'

'In what way?'

'Well… she's everythin' I'm not.' Jasmine's tone was wistful. 'She's pretty an' popular and people listen to 'er, even the grown ups. Me, I'm good for nothin', except kickin' a ball about a bit and I'm not even great at that.'

Christine eyed Dynasty, wondering how she would respond to that, and she hid a smile when she saw that the girl was watching Jasmine through the glass, looking utterly dumbfounded. If nothing else, perhaps this trial would lead to better relations between the two.

'Are you aware of the charges against your brother?'

Jasmine did not reply in words, but her head dipped.

The judge leaned towards her. 'You must speak aloud in court for the recorder, Miss Maguire.'

The girl's eyes flickered nervously in the direction he indicated. 'Sorry, sir. Yes, sir. I know them.'

'And do they tally with your knowledge and experience of your brother's character? Do you believe him capable of intimidation, blackmail and rape?'

Jasmine took her time answering, her head dropping so that Christine could only see the top of her mop of disheveled curls.

'She's only a character witness,' she heard Kevin tell Dynasty. 'What she says doesn't _really_ matter.'

'I know,' Dynasty muttered as their hands entwined. 'But still—'

Christine turned to look through the window in time to see Jasmine lift her head and say in a loud clear voice, 'Yes, I do.'

* * *

**12.30pm, Glasgow High Court**

* * *

Dynasty was still stunned from Jasmine's unexpected denunciation of her brother when her own brother was called to the stand and she reached to squeeze Kevin's hand. 'Nearly over,' she whispered. 'Just Barry to go.'

'Then lunch,' Kevin remarked with an answering squeeze and a grin that brought out the much-hated dimples in his cheeks. 'Can't wait. 'M starvin'.'

'And me,' Connor added.

Dynasty rolled her eyes. '_Boys_!'

Mrs Mulgrew smiled and the boys smirked. The atmosphere in the little room seemed lighter somehow, as though Jasmine's words had lifted the anxiety and dread that had loomed over them all week. For the first time since her own time in the stand Dynasty began to believe that Steve-O really would get sent down. The advocate hadn't expected Jasmine to say what she had; that was plain in the speed with which he hustled the other girl from court.

'Will Jas come here?' Kevin asked Mrs Mulgrew as Barry Barry began to repeat the oath.

The Head got to her feet. 'I should go and find out. Dynasty, would you mind—?'

''Course not,' Dynasty told her stoutly. 'Jas did me a favour there an' all, didn't she? She didn't 'ave to do that. No, miss, if you find 'er you bring 'er 'ere. I wanna to say thanks.'

'OK.' Mrs Mulgrew stopped on her way out to rest a hand on Dynasty's shoulder. 'Well done, Dyn.'

'Mum's learnin',' Connor said as the door closed behind her. 'Maybe she'll start calling you Kev next.'

'She better not,' Kevin grunted. 'No disrespect to your mum, mate, but she's still the Head. I don't mind it from Clarkson but from _her_… it'd be weird.'

'Yeah, whatever. Dyn, this Barry's first time in court?'

She scoffed. 'Are you kiddin'? No way. He's been in an' out enough to be a lawyer 'imself, has our Barry.'

'That's good innit,' Kevin told her with another press of the fingers. 'Means 'e can play the system, an' all.'

'If you'd just pack it in we might find out,' Dynasty scolded. 'Right, now the questionin' 'as started in good earnest. I know that shifty look on Barry's face.'

Duly warned, the boys did no more than grin at this, and they all three settled down to watch.

'So, Mr Barry,' the advocate began, 'what is your relationship to the accused?'

Barry's expression shifted with almost comical speedy between shifty and blandly innocent. 'What are you askin' sir? Do I look like a pouf to you?'

'Idiot,' Dynasty muttered. 'Way to go, now he'll get real pissed off.'

The judge leaned forward. 'Mr Barry, homophobic language is not permitted in this court. Counsel asked a question; please answer it.'

'Yeah, sorry. Well, 'e was me sister's boyfriend, wasn't he?'

'My understanding, Mr Barry, is that it was you who introduced my client to Miss Barry and not the other way round.'

Barry started picking his nails. 'I guess. Our da was done for robbery and sent inside where Steve-O was; 'e was right good to 'im, showed 'im the ropes an' that.'

'I see. Mr Barry, would it be accurate to say that your family feels beholden to the accused?'

Dynasty's breath caught and she leaned forward as Barry hesitated. _Say yes_, she begged inwardly. _You do feel beholden to 'im, you said so when you were goin' on about keepin' 'im right…_

Barry shrugged. 'Nah. 'E's a mate, is Steve-O. I wouldn't 'ave set 'im up with me wee sister if 'e wasn't.'

'And especially not, one imagines, if you believed he had the capacity to harm her in any way.'

Barry's eyes turned pebble-grey. 'No. Anyone who messes with me wee sisters messes with me.'

'Are you aware of the charges your sister has made against my client?'

''Course. That's why I'm 'ere, in't it?' The advocate looked as though to speak, but Barry forestalled him by adding casually, 'It's all lies. There's no way Steve-O raped my sister. She's not some helpless wee girl, she can defend herself.'

The answering rustle that ran through the court sounded unnaturally loud to Dynasty's ears as her vision darkened and cleared and darkened again. She shook her head slightly in an attempt to clear it, but her hearing was still so fuzzy that she could not make out the advocate's next question.

She did, however, hear Barry's response—a response that was so measured that it was clearly deliberate, clearly thought out beforehand.

'If I thought Steve-O _had_ raped 'er, that gun I left would've been loaded. It'd have _worked_. I'd 'ave done a lot more than set 'im up for the police, I tell yer.'

'Why did you set him up, if you did not believe he'd raped your sister?'

''Cos he'd hurt an' frightened 'er, hadn't he? Not rape. Not that. But I know he hurt 'er, enough. Besides, he was 'anging around like a bad smell when our Dyn had told 'im it was over.'

'I see. Where did you find the gun?'

Barry's shoulders lifted again. 'I didn't. It was already there, but I knew it was empty and there was no ammo. Safe to leave.'

'Why didn't you report it?'

'Not my patch, mate. I got a family to look after, I'm not about pokin' any sleepin' dragons.'

'Very poetic, Mr Barry. Do you have anything more to add?'

Barry hesitated. Then, 'Steve-O didn't do it. Let 'im go. Dyn… well, you know how girls are, they say yes when they mean no, and she said herself she led 'im on. Please, sir. 'E's innocent, I swear.'

'That will be for the jury to decide, but I'm sure my client appreciates your support. Thank you; you're dismissed.'

'The little toerag,' Kevin said in a disconcertingly conversational tone that knocked Dynasty out of her stupor of disbelief as the judge announced the break for lunch. 'The filthy, lyin' good-for-nothin' _toerag_.'

She jerked to her feet. 'Where's 'e gone? 'M gonna get 'im. I'm gonna _kill_ 'im, who does 'e think he is, does he think I'll let 'im get away with this?'

She shook off Kevin's attempt at restraining her, ignored Connor's words of caution, and stormed out of the room and down the corridor, eyes roving the milling crowds for people for the familiar swaggering form of her brother. At last she spotted him, leaning nonchalantly against a wall with their mother at his side. She could never say afterwards whether the final straw was Carol's presence or the insufferably smug expression on Barry's face—but she launched herself at him, kicking, biting, screaming, putting in a low blow whenever she could. She knew his weak spots; they'd quarrelled often enough in childhood and inevitably those spats had spilled into the physical. When Carol tried to split them she swung for her mother as well, panting hard when the older woman reeled back, her nose spouting blood.

The sight of the blood restored her as it had done earlier in the day, and not a moment too soon. Spectators had gathered around them, and beyond them Dynasty could see a security man approaching purposefully, his eyes fixed on her. Reaction set in and she started to shake, her legs turning weak and her stomach churning. Carol was trying to say something, but Dynasty couldn't hear her, her ears didn't seem to be working properly. She tried to back away, her breathing hitching as panic blanketed her once again. She reached what she thought was the wall, but it was a door that swung open, and she gasped as she stumbled back, cannoning hard into an unknown someone behind her.

'Hey, are you OK?'

Still breathing hard, Dynasty whirled to find herself face to face with a startled Jasmine in the ladies' loo. Tears began to leak from her eyes as she remembered Jasmine's unexpected testimony in comparison to Barry's and she started to stutter incomprehensibly.

Jasmine pushed her into the hard plastic seat that sat in one corner; the floor was uneven and the chair rocked with Dynasty's weight—unnerving her further—and a little whimper escaped her as she gripped the chair's hard edges.

'Stay there,' Jasmine ordered. Dynasty's need seemed to have given her an injection of confidence. 'Be back.'

Dynasty could not have moved if her life had depended on it. Her legs had that wibbly-wobbly alien feeling and her head was swimming unpleasantly. She rested her elbows on her knees and her forehead on her closed fists and concentrated on breathing. That was one thing she'd learned over the past months; this suffocating, terrifying panic could be endured if not cured, and she'd had plenty of practice in enduring.

The door opened and Dynasty moaned, unwilling to leave the little zone of peace she'd been building for herself.

'Dynasty?' It was Mrs Mulgrew.

Deja-vu swept through her, reminding her of the first time she'd heard her teacher's voice in the echoey confines of a loo.

Slowly, she raised her head. 'Did you 'ear, miss? Did you 'ear what Barry said?'

Mrs Mulgrew hunkered down next to her, her hands closing over Dynasty's still-clenched fists. 'The boys have just told me. They're worried about you, as is Jasmine. I've seen your mum too.'

Dynasty was now sobbing freely. 'Did you see 'er _face_? That was me, I hit her!'

''Shhhh,' her headmistress soothed. 'Your mum knows you're angry. She said to tell you that she'll wait until you're ready, but for now, you're to remember she loves you, no matter how it looks.'

'But _Barry_—' It came out as a desolate wail.

Mrs Mulgrew sighed. 'Barry… has his own reasons for what he does.'

''E said I lied! In front of all them people!'

'I know.' Mrs Mulgrew sighed again. 'We'll just have to hope that the jury have heard enough to convince them of Steve-O's guilt.'

The tannoy jingled into life, announcing the resumption of the case of Her Majesty's Advocate V Steven Malone, and Dynasty renewed her grip of the slippery edges of her seat.

'I can't go back to that room, miss. I can't listen to any more.'

'Are you sure? It's the verdict next.'

She nodded, fretfully wiping the tears from her cheeks. 'I know. I—I just _can't_.'

Mrs Mulgrew got to her feet, already pulling her mobile from her pocket. The other hand she extended to Dynasty. 'Come on then. I spotted a Costa next door. Shall we go there to wait? I'll tell the boys and Jasmine where we are.'

Dynasty took the proffered hand, clinging like a child even when she was on her feet. Mrs Mulgrew gave a smile that failed to mask the concern in her eyes.

'Steady enough, Dyn? Take my arm if you're feeling a wee bit shaky; I don't want you passing out on me.'

'I've never fainted in me life, miss,' Dynasty responded in almost her usual way—but she was glad to take the older woman's arm, finding comfort in its strength.

'Good. Let's not begin at this minute, eh?' Mrs Mulgrew opened the door slightly to peer into the hall beyond. 'The coast is clear. Shall we make a run for it?'

Dynasty held back. 'Is the security man there? He tried to get me earlier when I went for me mam.'

'If he tries to lay a single finger on you _I'll_ sort him,' her headmistress assured her with more than a hint of the steel that Waterloo Road was already learning to respect. 'Now. Are you ready?'

Dynasty tightened her hold on Mrs Mulgrew's arm. 'I guess so.' She managed a watery smile that she somehow kept pasted on her face as they made their way through the grandly marbled hall and out to the portico; the dreaded security man eyed them askance, but Mrs Mulgrew breezed past him with such speed that she doubted he had time to think, let alone respond.

The raw October air revived her and she drew a deep breath, welcoming the icy burn in her lungs. 'I feel better now, miss. Just bein' out of there.'

'It's oppressive,' Mrs Mulgrew agreed with a little shiver. 'Oooh, that wind is brisk. Let's get out of it.' She glanced at her watch and Dynasty's lightening heart plummeted to her shoes.

'When's it end?' she asked in a tiny voice. 'How long's it gonna take for 'em to give a verdict?'

'That depends,' Mrs Mulgrew told her as they entered the warmth of the coffee shop. 'Every trial is different, love. The jury could take five minutes—or five hours.'

A chill that had nothing to do with the weather rippled down Dynasty's spine. 'God, I 'hope they don't take that long. Don't think I could bear it, I'd go mad.'

'Don't be daft, you'd nothing of the sort. One way or another, this is nearly done, this part of the nightmare is nearly over. You're strong, Dynasty, I know you are. You're not gonna let this break you, no matter what.'

Dynasty's lips quirked. 'Is that an order, miss?'

Mrs Mulgrew laughed outright. 'You bet it is! Go and sit down, go on. There's a nice wee seat over there the corner, looks good and cosy. You grab it and I'll bring the drinks.'

* * *

**3.00pm, Costa Coffee Shop**

* * *

Connor's hands were shoved deeply into his pockets as he led a silent Jasmine and Kevin to the coffee shop where his mother and Dynasty awaited them. His stomach crawled with nerves at the prospect of the upcoming conversation, and his shoulders hunched against the biting wind. The blast of warm air that greeted them as they entered Costa Coffee should have been welcome but Connor recoiled from it too, especially when he saw his mother half-rise in her seat and give them a little wave.

He grimaced at Kevin. 'They must've been watching.'

Kevin's only answer was a glum nod.

Surprisingly, it was Jasmine who made the next move. 'C'm'on, let's go. We're not 'elpin' standin' here. Dynasty needs to know.'

'How do you know?' Kevin snarled, turning on her, and Connor's eyes widened as Jasmine recoiled. 'I know you did the right thing in there, but it doesn't excuse what you did before, in school.'

Jasmine swallowed, her scrawny throat tightening. 'I—I—'

'Leave it, Kev,' Connor ordered wearily. 'She's got a point. We can't keep hanging on. S'not right.'

The other boy's teeth clenched, muscles rippling along his jaw. 'Fine. But I'm doin' the talkin'. She's me girlfriend,' and with that he stalked over to the table where Dynasty and Connor's mother sat. Connor hung back, his very soul sheering away from watching that conversation at close quarters. He couldn't bear to see his mother's reaction, let alone Dynasty's. Involuntarily his feet backed him towards the door.

'Where're you goin'?'

Connor glanced at at the watching Jasmine. 'Nowhere.' He hunched his shoulders again and refused to meet her eyes.

'You should be over there,' Jasmine insisted. 'They're yer mates, never to mention yer mum.'

'What do _you_ know about mates?' Connor snapped, leaving the question of his mum alone. 'You haven't got any.'

She stared at him for a long moment before saying quietly, 'I know. And that's how I know,' and then she slipped away—where, Connor neither knew nor cared, for his mother was approaching him with her most purposeful stride, her lips compressed in a thin line. He licked his lips and tried to find something to say, but she got there first.

'Are you OK?'

He nodded once, his head jerking awkwardly. 'Dyn?'

His mother sighed. 'She hasn't taken it well.'

'At least Steve-O didn't get off scot-free,' Connor tried in a clumsy attempt at comfort. 'He's still goin' inside for a couple of months.'

'Eight weeks, Kevin said,' his mother returned shortly and he flinched. Her stance softened. 'Don't look so guilty, son. Wasn't your fault. In this case the defence was better than the prosecution. It happens.'

'B-but he was _guilty_,' Connor insisted. 'How can the jury not _see_ that?'

It was a while before his mother answered. 'I think some of them did—and he hasn't completely been acquitted, remember. "Not proven" is hardly a ringing endorsement of Steve-O's innocence—they're saying that, at this time, they don't believe there's enough evidence to convict him of rape.'

'They completely let him off the gun charge,' Conor said bitterly. 'Even though he tried to kill us.'

'Yeah, and Kevin went on record for wanting to kill him first, remember? After that you must've known the gun charge was dead in the water.'

'And eight weeks for blackmail hardly counts,' Connor went on. 'That was my fault, you can't say it wasn't. I messed up.'

His mother pulled him to her. 'Connor, let it go,' she murmured into his ear. 'What's done is done. Beating yourself up over it isn't going to help, I promise. You're kids, all of you, and you had the misfortune to be pitted against a very experienced defence advocate who knew just how to twist your words. It was not your fault, do you hear me?' She pulled back to look into his eyes and he nodded reluctantly.

'Good.' Her hand still rested on his shoulder. Most boys his age would have shrugged it off, but he was like a child with these gestures; he lapped them up as a starving kitten laps up milk. 'Come on. Come and talk to Dynasty. Jasmine too. Where is she, by the way?'

'Dunno. She went.'

His mother gave a little groan. 'Great. She can't have gone far; you go to the others and I'll find her. I'll be right back.'

Reflexively he clutched at her as she went to move away. 'Mum—'

Her hand covered his. 'Connor. You can do this. Go and talk to your mates, they need you. I'll be back in a minute.'

He allowed his grip to loosen. 'What about you?' he called as she tried again to move. 'Are you OK?'

She stilled, the line of her back rigid. When she turned to face him he saw to his surprise that she was smiling. 'I'll be fine, son. But thanks for asking.'

'Good.' He gave her his usual sheepish quirk of the lips. 'I love you, Mum.'

Her smile turned radiant. 'I love you too. Now stop dallying and go to your friends.'

Without giving him time to protest she slipped through the crowd and he was left to remain alone or follow her advice. Even then he still hesitated, his eyes seeking out Dynasty and Kevin, his gut clenching when he found them. Dynasty was not weeping as he'd expected. Neither was she shouting or throwing things or threatening violence on Steve-O, his lawyer, or their associates. Instead she had gone a strange shade of greenish white and was leaning against Kevin as though he was the only thing that prevented her from sliding to a helpless heap on the floor.

Kevin's eyes were very dark as they met Connor's across the cafe, and Connor hesitated no longer in going to join them in a cumbersome but heartfelt group-hug. They were his mates, they needed him, and no matter what, he'd be there for them, 'cos that's what mates do.

* * *

TBC

* * *

I did some reading and unfortunately it seemed that it was all too likely that Steveo would have been let off, more or less. In the rest of the UK he'd probably have been found guilty, but Scotland's additional verdict means that in cases where the evidence is not absolutely conclusive as 'not proven' result is all too probable in rape cases. Besides, I want him available for plot purposes...*winks* So keep watching this space! Oh, and absolutely please definitely _do_ tell me what you think.


	23. Episode 6-1

_A/N: Thanks to __**Paisley, Virgo girl 14**__, and the two __**Guests**__ who left a review. For anyone else reading, please, _please_ drop a line, especially now that WR has returned to our screens. I need to know whether or not to keep going with this alternative season, and also whether people would like to see more canon mixed in—eg, Princess(!) Windsor, Sue Spark (honestly, with a name like that she's just asking for pisstaking), the Brown twins…_

_In the meantime, on with the show!_

* * *

**5.00am, School House**

* * *

Rhiannon was returning to her room on autopilot after a trip to the bathroom, her eyes determinedly half-closed against the night lights that 'Elf'n'Safety had insisted be left burning. She slept well enough once she was over, but she'd always been ultra-sensitive to lights being left on and had not infrequently been mocked by her house mates for her habit of going to bed with her face covered by a towel. This time, however, she was jerked out of her state of carefully maintained drowsiness by the sound of the front door closing, the hinge shrieking as it always did when one tried to close it quietly. Curiosity drew her to lean over the mahogany bannisters to peer into the front hall and swiftly turned to anxiety when she saw Miss McFall begin to mount the stairs slowly, her grip on the bannisters moving her forward as much as her feet.

Rhiannon sat with muffled thump on the top stair of her landing, knowing that the history teacher would need to pass her on the way to her own room, wrapping her arms around herself in an attempt to suppress her shivers. Her nightclothes were thin cotton and the Victorian building was only heated in the bedrooms and communal areas, leaving the stairs and hallways bitterly cold.

At last Miss McFall stood at the foot of Rhiannon's own particular staircase, staring up at her with eyes round with surprise. 'What you are doing up at this time, dear? You should be asleep! It's only five o'oclock.'

'I was in the loo an' I 'eard the door slam,' Rhiannon returned defensively. 'What's 'appened?'

Miss McFall's smile was the strained grown-up sort that the sixth former had always hated. 'You'll find out later, dear, but it'd be better if you returned to bed until the bell goes.'

'Where's Maggie?'

Miss McFall hesitated, her mouth opening and closing, and that told Rhiannon all she needed to know.

She heaved to her feet, blocking the teacher's passage up the stairs. 'Is it Budgen?' She couldn't keep the quiver from her voice and compensated by folding her arms and lifting her chin. Miss McFall's eyes softened, and Rhiannon had to bite into her lower lip. 'It is, innit, you don't 'ave to say, it's written all over yer.'

'I'm not having this conversation with you now, Rhiannon. You need your sleep, a growing girl like you'—Rhiannon winced, but Miss McFall continued blithely—'and in any case it's far too cold. I'll tell you later, I promise.'

'That's not good enough, miss. I'm askin' now, you can't send me back worryin' and wonderin'. _Maggie_ would tell!'

Miss McFall's expression turned more prune-like than ever. 'I'm not Mrs Budgen, dear. You know that. Now come along.' She put a hand on Rhiannon's arm to encourage her up the stairs and the girl twisted away from her, so aggressively that the older woman had to cling to the bannisters to keep her footing.

'I'm not movin',' Rhiannon insisted as the teacher steadied herself. 'It's Mr Budgen, I know it is. Has he woken up properly?'

Miss McFall still hesitated, and Rhiannon raised an elbow and poised it above the little red box that was the fire alarm. 'Tell me now or I'll set this off.'

'Rhiannon, dear—'

'Not good enough, miss.' Rhiannon was aware that the quiver had become an outright wobble and that tears were gathering in her eyes. 'You 'ad yer ch-chance to tell me. Now you can tell us all.' With that, she rammed her elbow into the alarm, mingled triumph and grief washing through her as the shrieking siren began its song.

* * *

**5.45am, Mulgrew House**

* * *

'Yes, I understand that,' Christine said patiently as she paced her bedroom, her dressing gown tightly belted and her mobile at her ear. 'I gather that the incident was triggered by one of our girls as a result of an emotional upset. No, that's correct. There's no need to send an engine to the School House; I assure you that this is a disciplinary matter and we'll deal with it internally. Yes, I'll make sure the students involved appreciate the implications of wasting the fire service's time and resources. Yes. Yes. Thank you.' She stabbed the red button to end the call before throwing the mobile onto her bed and sighing deeply, her hands rubbing down her face and back up again, through her hair. What a way for a week to begin!

First, there'd been the call from a distraught Maggie, informing her that the hospital had called her to say her final goodbyes to her husband. This time there was no mistake, Maggie had told her wretchedly. This time there were no machines to turn off; Grantly's worn body was running down all by itself. Christine had only just slipped back into a fitful doze when she was wakened by another series of relentless vibrations rattling through her pillow. This time it was Audrey, as distraught as Maggie had been but with, Christine thought resentfully, far less cause. There was a mini-rebellion in progress, the History teacher had declared frantically (Christine wondered if perhaps the older woman had been preparing for classes on the French Revolution; she was carrying on as though she was Louis XVI confronted with the Parisian mob); the entire house had roused in response to the fire alarm and was now camped on the staircase and refusing to move until Audrey told them what was happening with Grantly. Seeing no help for it, she'd done so—only to find that the lot of them were determined to stay there, on the staircase, until further news came through.

'I don't know what to do with them!' she'd wailed to Christine. 'They're saying they won't even go to school if Maggie hasn't phoned before then. What do I do? I've got A'level classes first thing.'

Christine had soothed her as best she could and added that, news or no news, she or Tom would pop in before school started. In the meantime, Audrey was to continue as usual and perhaps the kids would see sense for themselves and return to something resembling their usual routine. When Audrey rang off, she collapsed onto her bed with a groan. Why had she ever thought she could do this job? She was still struggling to get her own bloody head together, never mind anything else… She eyed her lamp thoughtfully. It was nearly quarter to six; did she dare snatch another forty five minutes' sleep? Regretfully, she decided against it. Even without a drink in her she was liable to oversleep, and Connor had been sternly instructed to let her get herself up in future, regardless. It wasn't his job to run around after her and the poor lad had done so for long enough as it was.

Wearily, she got to her feet. She was exhausted already and the day hadn't even started. Exhausted and cold, she realised with a shiver. The heating mustn't have come on yet. Well, a hot shower would sort _that_. Softly, she padded through the hall towards the bathroom, aware of her young sleepers nearby—only to freeze as the distinctive and unmistakable sound of retching reached her ears.

She wasted no time in slipping into the bathroom to Dynasty's side, bending over the girl to rub her back gently, murmuring nonsense all the while even as she gave herself a stiff mental scolding. She'd had a niggling suspicion for some days now, but she'd pushed it out of her mind and refused to countenance it. History could not repeat itself so precisely, it would be too cruel… If only she hadn't been such a coward, if only she'd been able to gently bring this up to Dynasty before.

At last the girl sat back from the toilet bowl, her complexion almost as bleached as the sickly cream of the ceramic. Her eyes looked naked and vulnerable without their usual shade of false lashes and she was shaking convulsively, her lips nearly blue with cold.

Christine grabbed the clean plushy towel she'd brought from her room and wrapped it around the younger woman. 'Is that better?'

Dynasty nodded, her teeth chattering too much to allow for easy speech. After a couple of false starts, she managed, 'S—sorry. I—it musta been that C—Chinese last n-night…'

'Is this the first time you've been sick like this?' Christine asked, hoping against hope that it was. It would be so much easier if this could all be attributed to a dodgy takeaway.

'W-was sick last w—week,' Dynasty stuttered. 'Thought it w-was j-just nerves, like, 'cos of the t-trial.'

Christine sank back on her heels. 'Oh, Dynasty. Why didn't you say?'

Dynasty's chin lifted as she sniffled hard. 'Not fair on you, is it. You've d—done so much for me, I—I c-can't ask yer to clean up a-after me spewin'.'

Christine closed her eyes and inhaled through her nose. '_Dynasty_. God, I hate to ask this, love. You've no idea…' She exhaled, trying to control her own internal shuddering. 'Dyn, have you done a pregnancy test?'

It was impossible for Dynasty to go any paler, but she slumped forward, her hands clutching the rim of the toilet bowl and her forehead coming to rest on them. Christine moved to smooth the frizzy strands of hair back as she averted her eyes from the contents of the loo. She must get Dynasty away from here, she thought distractedly as her gorge rose. She would do no-one any good if she was sick from sympathy…

'Come on,' she said softly. 'Come on, Dyn. You're freezing. Don't worry about it now, let's get you warmed up first.'

Dynasty did not move, but tremors continued to run through her slim form. Christine gave a hum that absolutely refused to turn into a sob as she pulled the girl close and rocked her gently until the stiffness went out of her. It seemed to take forever, but at last Dynasty pulled back.

'C-can we go to the k-kitchen, miss?' She sounded like an anxious child.

'Course you can,' Christine responded, her own voice rougher than was its wont. 'Come on. Hot drink and we'll talk.' She rose, taking the girl with her, and leaned to flush the toilet. 'Come on.' She ushered Dynasty down the stairs, reminding her that they had to be quiet. 'Connor'll never forgive us if we deprive him of ten minutes of sleep,' she added as they entered the kitchen, and was rewarded when Dynasty gave a small smile.

She watched the girl out of the corner of her eye as she boiled the kettle and prepared the coffee. Dynasty was scrubbing her face with her hands, as if by doing so she could remove all traces of her breakdown and Christine was relieved to see it. That was the Dynasty she knew.

'It's not going to make you sick again, is it?' she asked as she placed a steaming mug before the younger woman. 'Because if so—'

Dynasty's hands shot forward to cradle the mug, protecting it. 'No way, miss. I need this, I do.'

'Fair enough.' Christine took her own seat, facing the girl, and sipped her coffee slowly. 'Well?'

Dynasty glanced up from playing with her mug handle. 'Dunno what to say. Or do.' Her shoulders slumped.

'I think I have a pregnancy test in the cabinet,' Christine mused, ignoring Dynasty's double take. 'You could use it if you wanted. Find out one way or the other.'

'And then what?' Dynasty's tone bordered on the aggressive. 'It'll just be a whole new problem, won't it? 'Cos if I am, then who's the da, huh? S—Steve-O or Kevin? And then what, eh? 'Cos if it's Kev's and I—' Her voice broke.

Christine leaned forward. 'Now you listen to me, Dynasty Barry. _If_ you're pregnant—and at this point it's still an "if"—then it's your choice and yours alone over what happens next. No-one else has a say. It's your body and you've been through enough.'

'Will _Kev_ see it that way?'

Christine's lips pursed. 'I don't know,' she admitted, remembering Kevin's hellish experiences with his mother. There was a good chance that the boy would react badly if Dynasty rejected his child as he himself had been rejected, she couldn't deny that. And if the putative child was _Steve-O_'s—

For the first time in months, Christine found herself desperately craving an early morning drink.

'Miss?' The question was softly put, even tentative, and sent a shot of warning adrenaline through Christine's system.

Reluctantly, she glanced up from her coffee to meet the younger woman's gaze and gave a brief nod of permission for her continue.

'Why'd you keep Connor?'

The last shreds of Christine's composure went and she sent the coffee flying as she fled the room, desperate to escape Dynasty's anxious eyes and the temptation that lurked beneath the sink.

* * *

**8.00am, Staff Room**

* * *

Audrey sighed as she approached the school's front doors. Most of her charges remained behind at the School House, including Rhiannon, Harley and the inevitable Lula, who'd come early for breakfast as usual and willingly joined the sit-in. Only the youngest boarders, those who could still be overawed by authority, had accompanied Audrey into school—in addition to Jasmine Maguire, who'd just sidled past her without a second glance.

The history teacher sighed again. Even Tom had failed to move the kids which should have made her feel better, but it did not. Calling him in, _needing_ to call him in, made her feel so ineffectual. How did Maggie make it look so easy? How did any parent cope? She couldn't do this, she was too old, too settled in her ways… she'd go and find Christine and own that the job was beyond her and they'd need to advertise after all. She felt terrible for letting everyone down but the kids would be the losers if she remained in charge, she was sure of it. Her steps lagged as she passed through the corridors, through Sonya's office, and rapped on the window to Christine's.

The door opened and all of Audrey's carefully planned speeches died on her lips as she blurted, 'What happened to you?'

Christine's smile was a stiff travesty that did not reach her eyes. She did not invite Audrey in. 'What do you want?'

Hot colour touched Audrey's cheeks at the Head's tone. 'About this morning—'

'It doesn't matter.'

'But I just wanted to explain. And even after Tom came there's a load of them still there, refusing to shift. They just wouldn't _listen_!'

'Is Tom still there?'

Audrey nodded, disconcerted by the younger woman's lack of interest.

'Good. He'll take care of it. Anything else?'

'Well—'

'Audrey, is it mission critical?' Christine demanded impatiently, her voice cracking like a whip that flayed across Audrey's sensitive soul. 'Is the School House still standing? Has anyone died, got lost, run away, or set the place on fire?'

Audrey was nearly going to say that all of this had come about because _Grantly_ was dying, but caught her friend's eye in the nick of time and thought the better of it. Christine was clearly in no mood to be trifled with, and that rush of heat went through Audrey once again as she admitted to herself that this was, in fact, a trifle.

'What's the matter?' she asked instead.

The corners of Christine's mouth quivered uncontrollably and for a moment Audrey thought the Head was going to break down. 'Nothing.' She glanced at her watch. 'It's time for staff briefing. Come on.'

'Christine—'

The younger woman froze, her shoulders going rigid. 'Audrey, you're my friend but you've got to stop this. I'm not your pet charity case, when will you understand that? Helping me won't get you Brownie points with—with some deity in the sky, no matter what you might think.' She twisted to look Audrey in the eye. 'I'll admit I'm upset. I'll admit I nearly broke out the vodka this morning, but I didn't. I _didn't_. I've got a job to do and a day to get through. Ask me again later and maybe I'll tell you. Maybe. But for now… let's just get to briefing and be professional, eh?'

Audrey nodded and Christine breezed past her into the staffroom, her jacket flapping open with the speed of her movement. Seeing no help for it, Audrey followed her in and took her usual seat silently, refusing to meet anyone's gaze.

'Nikki, did you tell them?' Christine asked in a very good approximation of her usual official tone.

'Thought it'd be better coming from you,' the Deputy Head answered, and once again Audrey noted the tiny quiver at the corner of Christine's mouth.

'Sounds serious,' George opined, looking down his long nose. Christine remained silent, and one brow rose as he studied his old friend. 'Come on, lovely. Spit it out, you've got us on tenterhooks now. And,' he added as he settled himself more comfortably in his seat, 'it'd better be good.'

'It's not,' Christine answered, her hands clasping and unclasping. 'Maggie phoned.' The small murmurs and rustlings in the background paused. 'Grantly's dying, today. He could go at any time. Some of you may notice that you're missing kids; that's because they're camped in the School House, awaiting news.'

'And you're _letting_ them?'

Christine's lips thinned. 'Yes, George. As I told you once before, he's the only father figure some of those kids have ever known. Tom's going to stay with them. I'll let you know more when I know myself, but in the meantime life must go on and so must the school. There'll be an SMT meeting this morning to select prefects, and a short meeting for all of you before afternoon registration so that you can voice your own thoughts on our choices.'

'What if we disagree?' Audrey ventured.

'Depends on your reasons,' Christine told her. 'This is just the first stage; we're trying to compile a shortlist for second interviews this week. Anyone have any obvious candidates they'd like to mention?'

'Dynasty Barry and Imogen Stew—erm, Mulgrew,' Nikki corrected with a self-conscious grin directed at the Head. 'They're both strong characters and great role models to the younger ones. We'd be doing the school a disservice not to select either of them.'

Audrey was watching Christine carefully. She did not miss how the younger woman's colour faded at the mention of her daughter-in-law and Dynasty, and the internal antennae she'd developed with regard to Christine over the past year stiffened.

'We'll need to wait and see,' Christine was saying without meeting Nikki's gaze. 'Role models they may be, but they've each got plenty going on in their own lives. Is it really fair to burden them further?'

Nikki looked surprised. 'What d'you mean? Imogen seems to have got a handle on her deafness and the trial's over. I know that's not the end of it,' she added hastily when the Head's eyes narrowed. 'But that's the worst of it over and now Dynasty can focus on putting her life back together. Can't she?'

'It's not that easy, Nikki,' Christine said tightly. 'It's not over, it's never over especially when—' She stopped, biting her lip hard. Her hands were trembling, Audrey noted. 'Excuse me.' She turned and left the staffroom, closing the adjoining door firmly behind her.

Everyone turned to stare at Nikki and the Deputy Head flushed. 'What? What did I say? I only asked—'

'Christine knows something, something she's not telling us,' Audrey said, looking at her colleagues over the top of her glasses.

'H'mm.' Once again, George deliberately rearranged himself on his chair as he eyed the door that linked staffroom and offices. '_H'mmmm_.'

The bell went and Audrey took advantage of the resulting scramble to say to George, 'What do you think is worrying Christine?'

He'd gathered his books together and stood looming over her, his nose appearing even longer from this vantage point. 'I have my own ideas. But,' he continued, raising a forefinger, 'I'm saying nothing. If Christine wants to share it with you that's up to her.' With that, he turned and swept off, leaving Audrey grinding her teeth with frustration.

There was something wrong with Christine and perhaps Dynasty too. It wasn't nosiness, she assured herself as she collected her own bag, it was good honest concern. She loved Christine, she really did, and whatever hurt Christine hurt her. She wanted to help and she couldn't help if she was left in the dark. She gave a little nod of satisfaction as she made her way towards her classroom. This was Waterloo Road after all, and nothing could be kept secret for long. One way or another she'd know what it was—and soon.

* * *

TBC

* * *

**Pretty please review and make my day!**


	24. Episode 6-2

_**I-Wish-Upon-Falling-Stars**__: Hey. You're a star (or a lot of falling ones, if you prefer). Thanks for your support, it means a lot. And as for Dynasty's pregnancy…. !_

_**Paisley**__: LOL, I know, I'm being horrible to her, aren't I? I could say it's not my fault, it was the show that came up with the origins of this plot line but…! Anyway, thanks for your support as well. You've been amazing. _

_**Jenna**__: Thanks! LOL, that might be a case of too many pregnancies!_

_**Ashli**__: You have an evil, twisted mind, d'you know that? That would be a twist and a half all right! Thanks for reviewing. _

_Hope everyone enjoys this next bit, with lots of Connor/Imogen and Kevin/Dynasty and even Christine/Connor angst coming up! _

* * *

**10.40am, Miss McFall's classroom**

* * *

'I wish you'd tell me what's worryin' you.'

Dynasty shifted uncomfortably in her seat in response to Imogen's concern while Audrey glanced surreptitiously at them over the top of her glasses, hoping for something more. With only five minutes to go before the bell she'd hoped that by allowing the kids to talk amongst themselves for a bit she'd glean something of what she wanted to know–and Imogen's new preference for sitting at the front of the classroom was very, very fortuitous.

'Oh come on,' Imogen urged, bumping her friend's arm with her own. 'I know something's up. You've hardly said a word all morning, even when Kev and Connor were trying to wind you up in the car.'

Dynasty gave her a sidelong glance, a tiny smile quirking a corner of her mouth. 'Ignorin' them two is the best thing to do.' She sighed. 'Kevin's doin' me 'ead in. He's been on at me for days to talk to 'im.'

''Cos he loves you, you div,' Imogen said, affection permeating the insult. 'OK, listen. We're mates, I won't force you to talk. Just… talk to _someone_.'

Dynasty's fair head dropped, the frizzy lengths of her hair falling on the desk, and Imogen relaxed.

'Did you tell Christine?' Dynasty made a tiny assenting movement and Imogen squeezed her arm. 'Then it's something to do with—'

'Fine. Fine, I'll tell you, but not now, OK? Just… wait 'til the bell goes. I don't want anyone else to 'ear.'

Audrey saw Imogen smile her understanding and the two returned to their work, writing industriously until the bell went. As the class scrambled to go for break the history teacher kept a watch on two girls closest to her; as she'd expected, they took their time in gathering their things, and it was not long before Audrey found herself alone with the foursome. The boys, she noted, had not yet realised that anything was in the wind, they were too busy bickering amiably over this prefect plan of Christine's. She gathered her books together—she was free after break—and left the classroom but she did not go far. Instead of returning to the staffroom she allowed her books and pens to fall to the floor, and quickly knelt down to retrieve them, careful to stay out of sight.

Initially, it seemed her plan would work.

'Well?' she heard Imogen prompt.

There was a pause before Dynasty said, so quietly that Audrey had to strain to hear, 'I'm up the duff.'

'What?!' The exclamation mingled Imogen's voice with that of the boys.

'Who's is it?' That was Kevin, the syllables a burst of staccato.

'What are you gonna do?' came from Connor.

Audrey's hands slowed in gathering her property together as she awaited Dynasty's response.

'Dyn? It's OK, you can tell us.' Imogen.

'No, it's not OK!' Dynasty exploded. 'It's not OK. I dunno who the dad is, I don't know what I'm gonna do. I have to think.'

'What's there to think about?' That was Connor, Audrey realised with surprise. He sounded furious. 'It's a kid, Dyn. A _kid_, no matter who the dad is, however it was conceived—'

Audrey heard no more for someone jerked her to her feet with little care or ceremony, and she twisted to find herself face to face with George Windsor.

'I—I was only—'

His dark eyes were far too knowing. 'Doing a little spot of eavesdropping, Miss McFall?'

She lifted her chin, inwardly cursing the traitorous blush that rushed to her cheeks. 'I dropped my things,' she told him with what dignity she could muster.

'H'mmm.' He studied her. 'Walk with me.'

'What?'

'Are you deaf? Come on, Audrey. Walk with me. I need a word.'

'I don't—'

'Oh yes you do.' He came to take her by the elbow, his fingers gripping the bone. 'Unless you want me to tell Christine what I've just seen, of course.'

She wrenched herself free. 'You really are a bully, aren't you?'

'So you keep telling me.' He seemed unperturbed. 'You, on the other hand, are a sad little spinster who gets her kicks from sticking her nose into the dark places of other people's lives. You tell yourself you're being kind, that you want to help, but the reality is…' He bent to put his mouth closer to her ear. 'The reality is that their sadness gives you a vicarious thrill, doesn't it. It validates your loneliness.'

Tears came to her eyes. 'You're a disgustingly horrid man, do you know that? I was thinking of Christine, your _friend_ Christine, who came into school looking like… well, I haven't seen her look so tired, so defeated, since the day Joe—'

'Joe?' George's tone was sharp. 'He came here?'

Audrey nodded, relieved to have distracted him from his dissection of her failings. 'He came last term, demanding she sign over to him the land her father-in-law had left her. That—that was the day she told Michael Byrne about the rape, I know that much.'

'Poor Chrissie. Poor girl.' His tenderness surprised her.

'You knew? Before the assembly?'

'I wondered.' He stared into the middle distance, into the past. 'I met her just before her son was born and she intrigued me. There was a watchfulness, a wariness about her that seemed wrong in such an attractive young woman. And she was very attractive then.' He sighed. 'When she started teaching a few months later I made it my business to befriend her. Not in the way you're thinking,' he added with a sardonic smirk, and once again Audrey blushed furiously.

'Apart from Connor she was utterly alone in the world, and her attitude towards him was… strange. On the one hand she was a fanatically caring mother, anxious to avoid leaving him with anyone else if she could possibly avoid it—but when she _did_ have him she often treated him like doll of some sort, something she would pick up and put down again, as though she wasn't quite sure what to do with him.'

'Was that when she started drinking?'

A spasm shot through George's jaw. 'I imagine so. It wasn't to excess at that point. She was breast feeding.'

Audrey was considering the conversation she'd just overheard between the kids. 'Joe Mulgrew isn't Connor's dad, is he?'

George's shoulders slumped. 'God knows. Christine always spoke as if he was, but defiantly, as though there was a possibility he wasn't.' His eyes met Audrey's, understanding dawning. 'Are you saying you think Connor's the son of the man who raped her?'

Nausea churned through Audrey. 'Could be. I've just… overheard…Dynasty Barry saying she's pregnant and she doesn't know who the father is, whether it's Kevin or that Steve-O. Connor asked what she was going to do and when she said she wasn't sure… he went mad, he absolutely lost it.'

'So he knows. God, what a mess.' George sighed again, wearily. 'I'm getting too old for this emotional crap. Does Chrissie know about this?'

Audrey nodded wordlessly.

He surprised her then, this chronically indolent man, by kicking the door of the nearest classroom once, twice. It must have hurt, she thought, but he showed no sign of it.

A question bubbled to the surface of Audrey's mind. 'George, why did she keep him? In that scenario most women would have no compunctions about aborting.'

He turned, his usual impassive demeanour firmly in place. 'You really don't know very much about her, do you?'

'She's my best friend!'

'Yes, but are you hers?' She reeled back, devastated, and he continued. 'She's a very private person, our Chrissie. She doesn't easily share herself with anyone. Why do you think she drank? Alcohol was a safe confidante; it'd never leave her, it'd always keep her secrets.'

'Like you're doing.' She couldn't keep the bitter hurt from her tone.

He gave her a tolerant smile. 'Give her time. You've only known her a year. As for the answer to your question, that's for her to say. I'll just say this, though, and you can take what you will from it. She didn't abort because she couldn't.'

He left her then with one of his stiff nods, and stared after him, her eyes owlish, her hands gripping her books. The door to the Head's office opened and Christine herself emerged, her eyebrows shooting up when she saw Audrey standing in the corridor.

'A problem?'

'No, no,' Audrey gabbled, unsure of what to say.

Christine looked puzzled. 'OK. Well, the bell's about to go. Haven't you got a class now?'

'No. No, I'm going to the staffroom,' Audrey explained, indicating her books. 'I'm free. Going to do some marking, get caught up.'

'OK.' Christine's smile was still puzzled. 'OK, I'll see you later.'

'H'mmm—mmm.' Audrey began to scuttle along the corridor towards the staffroom when Christine called her back.

'Have you seen Connor?'

Audrey's stomach dropped to her feet. 'He—he—they were in my room,' she stammered. She did not want to say any more, she could not bear to say any more, not after the conversation she'd just had with George. Muttering something to do with getting behind she continued to trot along to the staffroom, ignoring her boss's calls behind her.

* * *

**10.50am, Miss McFall's room**

* * *

'I'm up the duff,' Dynasty told Imogen, and Connor and Kevin exchanged quick glances, the colour draining from Kevin's face as they shouted, 'What?!' in unison with Imogen.

'Who's is it?' Kevin demanded, his hands clenching by his side.

'And what're you gonna do?' Connor couldn't prevent the aggressive edge, even when Imogen threw him a reproachful glance.

Dynasty stepped back from them, her eyes flicking from one to the other and back. She seemed to be struggling for words, as though she was considering…considering options other than keeping her child, and the mere thought of those options made rage pulse through Connor's veins in a prickle of heat that spread through his entire body.

His wife glared at him. 'It's OK, Dyn,' she assured their friend, putting an arm around her. 'You can tell us.'

Dynasty shook herself free. 'It's not OK,' she exploded and Connor twitched, remembering the day he'd heard those very words from his own mother. 'It's not OK, I dunno who the dad is, I dunno what I'm gonna do—'

'What's there to think about?' Connor interrupted harshly. 'It's a kid, Dyn. A _kid_, no matter who the dad is, however it was conceived—' He broke off, sour bile lining his mouth.

Dynasty stared at him with bewildered blue eyes. 'What's it to you, Connor? This isn't about you! It's my life, it's my body, I'll do what I want with it, not what _you_ think I should do!' She jabbed a pink talon towards him.

'The baby's innocent!' Connor bellowed. 'Don't you see that? If you get rid of it you're killin' it, you're _murderin_' it!'

'Connor!' Imogen threw herself at him, covering his mouth with her small hands. 'Connor, listen to me. Stop it, think about what you're sayin'—'

'I know what I'm saying.'

'No you don't, you're just spoutin' off. This is _Dynasty_ you're talking to, our mate Dynasty who's already been through hell!'

He shook her off. 'Yeah, an' you're supposed to love me,' he accused. 'If—if everyone thought like you do I wouldn't even be here, did you think of that?'

His wife stared at him as though she'd never seen him before. 'Dynasty's right, it's not about you,' she said, the new coolness in her tone striking him to the heart. 'This about _her_ and every woman's right to control her own body. What happened to your mum has nothing to do with it.'

Connor glanced at the one person who had not spoken. 'Kev—'

His best mate refused to meet his eyes. It was small consolation that he also refused to meet Dynasty's, his hand lying limply in hers like a dead fish.

'Kevin?' Dynasty echoed. She sounded scared, but Connor could summon no touch of pity for her. He was too angry.

'I—I can't deal with this,' Kevin stuttered. 'Yeah, Dyn, you're right. You control your own body, I'm not arguin' with you. If it's Steve-o's an' you wanna get rid… I get it, I'll be with you. If you want me to.' He swallowed hard, his Adam's apple bobbing erratically in his throat. 'B—but what if it's not?' His hand twisted in hers, but now it was she who refused to meet his gaze. 'What if it's mine? _Ours_?' His eyes were like a child's, wide and hopeful.

Dynasty glanced at him through her lashes. 'I don't wanna be a teenage mum, Kev. Especially not l—like this. I wanna make somethin' of meself, I wanna go to uni, not be handcuffed to the kitchen sink!'

Kevin reacted as though she'd slapped him, shying away from her like a startled horse. 'I wouldn't do that to you!'

'You wouldn't, but the kid would! Any kid! And every time I looked at it… yeah, we could have a paternity test, an' what if it's not yours? Could you live with it? Could I?'

Connor flinched. Had his mother ever considered a paternity test? Was it worth suggesting after all these years or would it simply reopen wounds best left untouched?

Dynasty's lips thinned in a straight line. 'See, you dunno either. Kev, you've a great future ahead o' you, you're brilliant, you are. You might not wanna be with me forever. D'you really wanna be shackled by a kid _now_?'

'I'd be a good dad,' Kevin insisted, his voice cracking. 'I would. I know how it feels to be rejected, Dyn. I'd never let a kid of mine feel like that.'

Dynasty's eyes dropped, her lashes turning them opaque. 'But I don't know if I could be a good mum,' she whispered. She glanced up at them through the spiky black veil, watching them before saying, 'You don't get it, do you. Either of you.'

'No.' Once again, Kevin's fists were clenched, his jaw set. 'No, I don't.' Without another look for his girlfriend or his friends, he turned and left, the door clicking shut behind him.

'Connor?'

That was Imogen, and Connor had to force herself to meet her eyes. She was once again standing with her arm around Dynasty, but the other girl stood stiff, almost aloof, refusing to soften into Imogen's caring embrace. The sight caused Connor's heart to miss a beat; it was as if in that moment he could see Dynasty twenty years from now, a woman not unlike his own mother, a woman who'd protected herself by developing a hard exterior that excluded even him…

'I—I'm sorry,' he jerked out.

Imogen's expression hardened. 'I hope you wouldn't act like this if it was me.'

'Leave it, sweet'eart,' Dynasty told her wearily. 'It's a free country, he can think what 'e likes.'

'I don't care. This isn't about you or him or Christine. This is about respectin' people's _rights_, Connor!' Her gaze was blistering and he could not meet it, his own gaze falling to study the scuffed tops of his shoes. 'Fine,' she bit out when several minutes had passed. 'I'm not comin' back to yours tonight. I'm goin' home. Mum's been complaining she hasn't seen me for weeks.'

He felt sick, hot and cold running through him in quick succession. 'Imogen—'

She hitched her bag onto her shoulder. 'Call me when you've come to your senses. Come on, Dyn,' and with that, she left him standing alone in the middle of the empty classroom without a backward glance.

He watched her go, the pieces of his fragile world shattering around him and for once it was entirely his fault. His hands shook as he fumbled in his pockets, checked through his bag. He didn't want to set any fires—once burned, now forever shy—but the smooth feel of the lighter would soothe him, he knew. His fingers were so stiff that he dropped the bag, causing its contents to spill over the floor in a cacophony of rustles and clangs from books and keys and phones and his metallic pencil case. It was the final straw. He staggered back towards the wall of the classroom and slid down it to the floor, his hands threading through the longer lengths of hair on the top of his head.

Perhaps he fell asleep. Perhaps he sank so deep into his own personal slough of despond that he became unaware of his surroundings. Either way, he was brought back to himself by his mother.

'You're supposed to be in study period, what are you doing here?' she demanded sharply from the door, and he cringed.

She came into the room, taking in his position more fully. 'Connor? What's happened?' Her eyes searched the room, how his possessions were scattered over the floor and came to rest at the lighter at her feet. Her lips pursed as she bent down to retrieve it.

'There's only two reasons you could have this, and neither of them are good,' she said in a dangerously calm tone. 'Care to explain why you have this in school?'

'Who's askin'?'

'What?'

'Who's askin'?' he repeated, lifting his head to look at her fully. 'My mum or Mrs Mulgrew?'

She blinked. 'Both, I suppose.'

'Ha,' he scoffed. 'OK, then. _Mrs Mulgrew_, I'm very sorry I dropped my bag and made a mess. I had a row with my mates an' it was my fault. The lighter's yours, anyway,' he added bitterly. 'I forgot it was there until just now.'

'OK.' She glanced at the lighter she still held before handing it back to him. 'Here.'

He stared at it, taken aback. 'What are you doin'?'

'I'm showing I trust you, son,' she told him softly. 'Now come on, get up and tell your old mum what's upset you so much.' She held out her hand to him and pulled him to his feet before propelling him to the nearest chair. 'What's happened? Did you have a row with Imogen?'

He was kicking a pen on the floor, rolling it forward and then back. 'Sort of.'

'It was always going to happen someday,' his mother assured him with a tolerant smile. 'No matter how in love you are. Arguments are part of the territory. You need to learn to laugh and move on.'

'It wasn't that kind of row,' Connor said miserably. 'It was about Dynasty.'

She stiffened and his heart rate escalated.

'Mum—'

She looked at him and he grabbed every shred of courage he'd ever had and nerved himself to ask the question that had haunted him for months. 'Why did you keep me?'

Her mouth opened and closed wordlessly for a long moment. 'Why—_why_ would you ask that?'

'Because Dyn's thinking of getting rid,' he said. 'Because she said she couldn't live with it, a kid born of rape. So how did you do it? Why did you keep me? It wasn't love, I know that much.'

She was staring at him with stricken eyes.

'Connor. Oh, Connor, don't say that.'

He steeled himself against the pain he could hear in her voice. 'I want to know. I _need_ to know, whatever it is.'

'I couldn't abort you,' she said without looking at him.

''Cause you didn't find out early enough, I suppose.'

'It—it wasn't just that,' she said shakily. 'I—I've never told you, but I had a sister. Your aunt.' She managed a mockery of a smile. 'She was three years older than me. I worshipped her.'

'_More_ family I never knew about,' Connor flung at her. 'God, Mum, why do you have to _hide_ everythin'?!'

'Because there was no point in telling you about her,' she responded in a hard tone. 'She's dead. She died seven years before you were born from an abortion that went wrong. Our parents were strict fundamentalists, you see. They'd always told us that if we got ourselves in trouble they'd cut us off without a penny. When Con found she was pregnant—'

'_Con_?'

'Constance,' she told him softly. 'I found the name closest to hers I could for you.'

For some reason that comforted him, knowing that despite everything she'd named him for someone she loved.

'Anyway, when Con found she was pregnant she knew there was no point in going to the doctor, it'd just get back to our parents. One of her mates at school told her it could be done with—with a knitting needle. So that's what she did. She died in hospital a week later from blood poisoning and I swore then that if I got pregnant I'd keep the child, no matter what the circumstances.'

'And your mum and dad—?'

'They learned nothing. When—when it happened with you, they didn't want to know. They thought Joe was the bee's knees, you see, and they believed him when he accused me of sleeping around. We weren't getting on so when I discovered I was pregnant—' She shrugged.

'You didn't tell him about what happened?'

'How could I? You saw what he was like that day. He worshipped his dad. I didn't want to tarnish that—and I didn't think he'd believe me. I loved him and didn't want to lose him, but I lost him anyway.'

'I'm sorry.'

'Don't be daft, it wasn't your fault.'

His shoulders twitched dismissively, and his mother lifted his chin so that he was looking at her. 'Hey. It _was not your fault_, why do you think I never told you? I know I've been the world's worst mother, but surely you don't think that I could be _that_ cruel!'

This time he couldn't ignore the pain. He reached out to hug her, fiercely gulping back the sobs that threatened to escape when he felt her arms close around him. 'No. I'm sorry.'

'_I'm_ sorry.' He thought he felt a few drops of something wet land on his hair and pressed closer.

'What about Dyn?' he mumbled into her jacket.

She sighed, her breath ruffling his hair. 'That must be her choice. Whichever one she makes, she's the one who has to live with it. No-one can do it for her.'

* * *

This has been quite a tough one to write, so please, please, _please_ give me some feedback. As always, comments, typo alerts, thoughts, ideas etc more than welcome!


	25. Episode 6-3

_Hey! I was completely taken aback by the reaction to the last chapter—all the more so since it was literally written in an afternoon with very little in the way of proof-reading or checks. Here's some responses to reviews:_

**ILoveJamesArthur:**_ LOL, I know, I'm not sure I'm too keen in the direction Dynasty/Kevin seems to be taking either and I'm _definitely_ not keen that they seem to have forgotten she's not a bimbo. She's been getting A* for English A'level, would she really not know how to spell 'courtesy'?!_

**Paisley**: _Hmmm… I'm saying nothing! :)_

**loveistheprotection**: _Thanks_!

**Guest**: _Aw, thanks. Weird though as I churned it out very quickly. Sometimes writing is like blood from a stone and other times it flows…I think this was a flowy time. NOT like the chapter you're about to read which is definitely blood-from-stone territory._

**waterlooroadfansince2006**: _You read over 70,000 words in an hour and a half?! I'm a very fast reader myself and I doubt I could beat that. I'm… impressed._

**Lauren** and **Guest**: _You'll just have to wait and see what happens next for Connor/Imogen!_

**I-Wish-Upon-Falling-Stars** _(seriously, I'm gonna set up a keyboard shortcut for that one, I swear) and_ **dustdancingintheflickerlight**, _thanks again_ :)

**Jamesy**: _You really made my day with your review. When people start saying they prefer your version to canon that's just… amazing. Thanks!_

* * *

_What does everyone think of series 9 so far? I'm reserving judgement at the moment because I'm coming to the conclusion that WR really works best when you can watch a whole series more or less at once, marathon style. That's when you get the full benefit. Also, happy dance that series 10 has apparently been commissioned—although I will not be happy if Christine doesn't stay on as head! I'm really enjoying seeing her manipulative side return and Angus Deayton is just… *_squee_*. Although, I can never watch him without thinking of _One Foot in the Grave_…_

_Note: change of pace this time, so apologies in advance!_

* * *

**11.45am, Head's Office**

* * *

Christine sat at her desk, her eyes fixed unseeingly on the never-ending paperwork in front of her. She couldn't focus on her work, the conversation she'd just had with her son lingering in her mind, reviving memories she'd spent years repressing.

She was so deep in her thoughts that she did not hear the door open or Sonya enter until a large mug of steaming coffee materialised in front of her. Startled, she glanced up to find her secretary glaring down at her with arms folded. Sonya was really not very good at glaring, Christine thought affectionately, but just now she was making a valiant attempt.

'Drink,' Sonya ordered.

Christine raised the mug in salute. 'Thanks for this.' She drank deeply, welcoming the bitter burn of it, the tendrils of warmth that spread through her, banishing the cold inside. When she replaced the mug on the table her secretary was still watching her—but the glare had turned mournful and Christine repressed a groan. Couldn't she have a few minutes peace, a few minutes to get her head together?

'What's wrong?' she asked warily.

Sonya's face grew even longer. 'Maggie phoned,' she began apologetically, and guilt stabbed through the Head. She'd been so busy trying to deal with Dynasty while warding off the remnants of her own past that she'd forgotten what was happening with the Budgens.

'And?' she prompted, her heart sinking as she awaited the inevitable.

'Grantly died an hour ago,' Sonya answered softly. 'It were peaceful in the end, Maggie said. 'E came round an' knew 'er again before 'e went. She was cryin', but happy, if that makes sense.'

Christine nodded, her own eyes filming. 'It makes perfect sense.' She leaned her head against her chair and momentarily closed her eyes against the familiar feeling of numb loss, the grief she'd first experienced alone as a young girl when her mother told her with ruthless piety that her sister was dead. As for Grantly… He'd done his best to welcome her to Waterloo Road, she recalled with a pang, one of the few who'd made the effort. And then she'd embarrassed herself with undone buttons and he'd been comically horrified, as if he'd never seen a woman's bra before—

Something that was half-laugh, half-sob burst from her and Sonya looked concerned. 'Mrs Mulgrew?'

'I'm fine, Sonya.' She wiped at her eyes. 'Just… we'll miss Grantly, grumpy old sod that he was.' Sonya nodded in sorrowful agreement, and Christine bit her lip, her mind already beginning to run through the practicalities. The school would need to be informed, never to mention the kids at the School House. That reminded her of someone else who'd be anxiously awaiting news.

'Does Tom know?'

'Dunno, Maggie never said and well, I didn't like to press 'er just then.'

'Of course not.' She managed a smile for Sonya as she rose and grabbed her overcoat. 'OK. I'll go over there now and see what's happening. If Tom doesn't know—well, I don't want to tell him over the phone, and even if he does he shouldn't be alone with all those kids. He'll be grieving too. Let Nikki know; she's in charge while I'm over there.'

''Course. Mrs M?'

'H'mm?' She turned, straightening the coat's collar.

'Tell 'im I'm thinking of 'im,' Sonya said gently. 'Tell 'im I'll get some bakin' done for them kids just as soon as I'm done with the register. They'll need sommat to smile about an' all.'

Christine could not speak, but the approving hand she rested on Sonya's shoulder as she passed spoke for her and the secretary's eyes filled as she turned away.

'Miss?' Christine's pace down the corridor towards the door slowed. 'Miss!'

She turned, forcing a professional smile.

'Jasmine,' she greeted as the girl came to a stop before her, fidgeting nervously, and Christine suppressed a sigh of impatience. 'What can I do for you?'

Jasmine looked up. ''Ave you 'eard anything 'bout Mr Budgen?' she blurted, rather to Christine's surprise. Jasmine had never known Grantly as a house parent.

'I'm going to the School House now,' she responded, evading the question. For a moment she considered sending Jasmine back to class but that seemed unfair; the girl _was_ a boarder and she looked so downcast just now. 'Want to come with me?'

Jasmine nodded and Christine silently marshalled her towards her car, not speaking again until they'd pulled out of the school car park. 'Right. Are you going to tell me what's bothering you?'

Jasmine was chewing her lip. 'It's Miss McFall,' she said in a rush. 'How long's she gonna be at the School House?'

Christine eyed her as she pulled up in front of the boarding house. 'For the rest of this term at least. Mrs Budgen needs some time to herself at the minute.'

The girl's face fell.

'She means well.' Christine hoped she sounded reassuring rather than impatient. 'I know she can hover a bit, but she does care. You can trust her.'

Jasmine seemed to shrink back against her seat. 'It's just—she's so nosy. She's always askin' an' wantin' to _know_… I wish she'd leave me alone!'

'Tell her so,' the Head said briskly. '_Politely_, mind. I don't want to hear you've been rude to her or any other member of staff, understood?'

Jasmine nodded, and Christine sighed as she unbuckled her belt. 'Good. Come on. You'll know more in a minute, go on.'

Despite Christine's urging, Jasmine tailed her into the house and the older woman had to glance meaningly at the common room before the girl took the hint and went, much to the Head's relief. She wanted to speak to Tom in something resembling privacy and fortunately he'd heard the car and come to the hall to greet her.

'Christine.' He looked haggard, his eyes very bright with tears she guessed he hadn't had time to shed.

She took advantage of the fact they were alone and moved to kiss him gently on the cheek. 'I'm so sorry.'

'Me too,' he returned gruffly. 'I know it's best for him, but… Maggie called. She said she'd let Sonya know, but I didn't expect you—' His voice broke and she put a hand on his arm.

'I'm Head. Where else would I be?' He seemed to relax a little at that. 'Now. The kids, have they been told?'

He shook his head slowly. 'No. Not yet… I wanted to get meself together first. I can't—I can't break down in front of them, can I.'

'Come on then,' she murmured, her hand moving to rest in the crook of his arm. 'Let's go and tell them together.'

* * *

**12.15pm, School House**

* * *

'Oi!' Rhiannon called when she spotted Jasmine slip in through the common room's big door. 'What're you doin' here?'

The other girl glanced at her. ''M here with the Head,' she said defiantly. 'She said I could come.'

Rhiannon exchanged a glance with Harley, the dark sensation that had been hovering over her all day suddenly descending. 'Mrs Mulgrew. What's—why's _she_ 'ere?'

Jasmine shrugged. 'Budgen, I guess.' Her tone verged on the dismissive. 'Oh, an' it looks like we're stuck with McFall for t'rest of t'term. Mrs M says so.'

'I don't care about her,' Rhiannon spat. 'What about Budgen? Has he—' She couldn't finish and Jasmine eyed her curiously, as if wondering why she cared. Rhiannon turned away, resentment filling her. What was Jasmine doing here anyhow? She'd been nothing but trouble, she'd worried Maggie ever since she moved in and now she was moving in on McFall—although Rhiannon couldn't really blame her for that. She wasn't feeling too fond of the history teacher herself just now, given their confrontation that morning.

'OK, everyone, could you look this way please,' Mrs Mulgrew called, and Rhiannon shuffled closer to Harley and Lula. They looked at her with sad smiles and, encouraged, she put an arm around each of them as they braced themselves for whatever was coming.

'Are we all here?' the Head asked, and a murmur of assent rose. Rhiannon gulped, her pulse thumping in her head and her belly. 'OK. Look, there's no easy way to tell you this, but… Maggie rang a while ago. Mr Budgen has gone, he went peacefully, she said.'

The usually noisy common room was absolutely still until it was broken by a loud sob coming from Lula.

Mr Clarkson spoke at that point. 'I know it's really hard to let him go, but you should remember this, you lot. Until the very end he didn't really know where he was, he only knew he was in pain and with strangers. He told me once that he wanted to go out kickin' and screamin', with a bang rather than a whimper—and if anyone can tell me where that line's from in the next day or two I'll bet that Grantly'll be toasting you, no matter where he is!' Everyone laughed, the atmosphere lightening, and Mrs Mulgrew came forward once again.

'It's OK to be sad, and it's OK to laugh,' she told them. 'That's all part of remembering people. Now. Mrs Budgen is coming back tonight and I want you all to treat her as normally as possible, OK? Bereavement isn't a disease. She'll want to talk and laugh—and cry—about Grantly with you, but she'll want time for herself too so you'll need to respect that. So… Miss McFall will be staying on as House Mistress until further notice.'

'We don't want her, miss,' someone shouted. 'She don't get it, she doesn't get _us_. We want Clarkson, don't we?'

'Yeah, why can't we 'ave Clarkson?' Rhiannon argued loudly. 'He's miles better'n McFall any day. What do you say, you lot? Who d'you want? McFall or Clarkson? I say Clarkson!'

'Yeah,' Harley echoed. 'I say Clarkson too.' He started to chant, a chant that was quickly taken up by the others. 'Clarkson, Clarkson, Clarkson—'

'Now come on, you're not being fair,' Mr Clarkson put in, his voice cutting across the growing riot. 'You haven't given Miss McFall a chance yet.'

'We don't need to,' Harley said, uncharacteristically resentful. 'We know 'er already, sir. She's nice in school but here? She's a nosy cow, she never leaves us alone and she keeps treatin' us like we're little kids. She never tells us anythin', like this mornin'.'

Rhiannon got to her feet. 'Yeah, cos she caught me and she knew I were well worried, and she never said a thing. She wanted me to go right back to bed 'sif I were a baby an' I just wanted t—to _know_!' To her horror, the tears that had lurked in the background all day overflowed and she sniffled loudly. 'Please sir, miss,' she said quietly. 'We don't want 'er. Not _now_.'

Mrs Mulgrew was watching with an odd expression. Finally she said, 'All right. It sounds like you've got reasons for feeling as you do. Come back to school and we'll sort it out properly.'

'We will _not_!' Lula's forcefulness startled the chanters, returning them to silence. 'We will not come because we know once we are there you will not listen to us. You are just trying—trying to placate us to get your own way, like all grown ups do.'

Mrs Mulgrew's eyebrows went up as she turned a considering gaze on the Year 11 pupil, her lips tightening in disapproval.

'Lula. What exactly are you doing here? You're not a boarder so you should be in school, young lady. Go on, get moving or you'll find yourself spending a week in the cooler catching up.'

'But miiiss,' Lula complained. 'That is _so_ unfair. I loved Mr Budgen, I spend all my time here, I am a boarder here in _everything_ except it is that I sleep at home! Why should I not have a say?'

'_Lula_!' Mr Clarkson roared, making them all jump. 'You heard the Head. Shift, now—or I'll make sure you never set a foot in here again. And the rest of you! Mrs Mulgrew's quite right. This can all be sorted out at school so—' He jerked his head in the direction of the school buildings. 'Move. We're not trying to be horrible,' he continued more gently. 'You won't have to go into lessons, we know you're upset, but we do need you in school. So… please?'

Rhiannon sniffled loudly and shook her head, her purple pony tail flying. 'No, sir. We're not movin'. Not 'til Maggie's back.'

For a moment she thought Mr Clarkson was going to lose it, but Mrs Mulgrew leaned over and whispered something into his ear and he nodded. 'Fine,' he said through his teeth. 'They're all yours.' His glare moved back to Lula. 'Apart from _you_, that is. You're coming with me. Yes you are!' he added when the fifth year looked as if she was going to argue. Reluctantly, the girl got to her feet and the Deputy Head placed a hand on her shoulder, pushing her in front of him. When they reached the door he turned to look at the Head.

She gave him a short nod. 'I've got this, Tom,' she said softly. 'I'll see you back at school.' The front door closed loudly, cutting off the rumbles of Lula's renewed protest, and the remaining occupants of the common room eyed their headmistress nervously.

She did not begin to moralise, as Rhiannon had half-expected her to. Instead, she went straight for the jugular, almost instinctively finding the one thing that would bring them straight to heel.

'I'm going to give you fifteen minutes,' she told them abruptly. 'Fifteen minutes to get your heads together. Then I'm going to ask you again if you're going to come back to school. You should know that if you say no I'll be straight on the phone to your social workers, asking that you be placed elsewhere for the rest of the term. Neither Maggie nor Miss McFall should have to deal with insubordination in the house just now.'

The School House kids exchanged horrified glances at that and Rhiannon's heart sank. They were nearly all in care, and for most of the them the School House was the nearest thing to a home many of them had known. With that single threat Mrs Mulgrew had won; the others would capitulate, they had no other choice.

Then the Head surprised her. Just as everyone else began to scramble to their feet and move slowly towards the door, she came to sit next to Rhiannon on the big sofa.

'How are you doing?'

Rhiannon started, lifting her eyes to meet Mrs Mulgrew's. Once again, the tears threatened to overflow and she shook her head fiercely, determined not to allow them to spill.

The older woman sighed. 'We'll all miss him, Rhiannon, but life has to go on. The school has to go on, and it's my responsibility to see that this disrupts your education as little as possible.'

Rhiannon said nothing, her gaze returning to her shiny black fingernails and staying there. Mrs Mulgrew continued to talk, saying all the usual grown-up teachery things, and she allowed it to wash over her while she struggled to regain her composure.

Until her brain caught up with what Mrs Mulgrew had just said and her head snapped up. 'Did I hear yer right? You want me to be a prefect? _Me_?'

Mrs Mulgrew did not smile. Not quite, but the corners of her mouth twitched and Rhiannon's eyes narrowed; she'd spent enough hours in the older woman's classroom to know her tells, and this one meant that she had something up her sleeve.

'Miss?'

'Listen.' Mrs Mulgrew leaned forward, resting her hands on her knee. 'There's two parts to this. Firstly, Miss McFall is going to need help to manage and you're both the oldest _and_ the most senior boarder. The kids listen to you, they've proved that today—and you've proved that you can be a leader. Secondly,' she went on before Rhiannon could interrupt, 'as a prefect you'll have a certain amount of authority in the house. You can act as a bridge between Miss McFall and the others and she respects authority. Having _this_'—she pressed something cold and angular into Rhiannon's palm— 'will make her listen to you. Do you hear what I'm saying?'

The sixth former studied the enamelled red shield badge engraved with 'Prefect' in curly gold letters, hardly able to believe that it was for her. She glanced at the Head with dubious eyes. 'Are you sure? 'Cos you know what I'm like, I'm as gobby as Dynasty but wivout 'er brains.'

'This isn't about brains, this is about strength of character and you've got loads of that,' Mrs Mulgrew told her firmly. 'Come on, Rhiannon. I need you to do this. For the school. For Maggie.' She paused. 'For Grantly, who helped to build this place. Please.'

Rhiannon's vision went blurry. 'OK. OK, I—if you put it that way.' She sniffled, wiping the back of her hand against her nose.

Mrs Mulgrew smiled, her own eyes very bright. 'Well done. And… I have another idea I think you'll like, but I need to talk it over with Maggie and Mr Clarkson first. Right, then,' she continued in her usual tone as the other boarders—their fifteen minutes up—began to dribble cautiously back into the common room, suitably coated and bagged. 'I'm pleased to see you're all ready to go back to school,' she added as she got to her feet. 'Very pleased. And I hope you'll be just as pleased to hear that you won't be left _completely_ to Miss McFall's tender mercies.'

Rhiannon glanced at her sideways, taken aback by her tone. Was it possible that Mrs M understood their issue with McFall, _really_ understood it? 'Cos it bloody well sounded like it.

Mrs Mulgrew indicated that Rhiannon should stand. 'As you know, the staff are choosing prefects this afternoon but I've decided to make one appointment straight away. As of today, Rhiannon is both a house _and_ school prefect, and it'll be her job to help Miss McFall run the house in the way you want it to go. Any problems, go to her—understood?'

Rhiannon waited for the response with her hands clasped at her waist and her eyes fixed firmly on the floor. She'd never get over it if they hated the idea, if they didn't want her. She glanced up in time to catch Jasmine's scowl and her heart sank. If the only other sixth former in the house hated the idea, what would the rest of them think?

It was Harley who broke the silence that had greeted the Head's announcement. 'You mean McFall can't have it all 'er own way?'

'Absolutely not,' Mrs Mulgrew affirmed. 'She's here strictly on a temporary basis while Maggie's on compassionate leave. This is your home, people, and I want it to stay that way.'

'An' what if she does sommat we don't like?'

'Take it to Rhiannon—within reason, that is. I don't want to hear of you complaining about reasonable rules, such as lights out or when you're called in the morning!' Rhiannon—an inveterate oversleeper if ever there was one—wrinkled her nose at that and the atmosphere turned from heavy to light in a heartbeat. Mrs Mulgrew's smile broadened. 'If Rhiannon _can't_ thrash it out with Miss McFall and a House Meeting doesn't sort it, then she'll bring the issue to Mr Clarkson and I and we will deal with it, I promise you.'

Harley was grinning. 'Awesome. Thanks, miss. That'll do us, right?' He looked at his compeers and Rhiannon felt her face flame when she saw how her fellow pupils visibly relaxed.

'Good,' Mrs Mulgrew told them briskly as she moved towards the door. 'It's nearly one o'clock. If you lot want lunch I suggest you—' She broke off with a grin of her own as the boarders hurtled past her _en masse_. 'Well.' She turned to Rhiannon, her smile fading. 'Are you coming?'

For a moment Rhiannon longed to say no, to say that she preferred to stay behind to grieve in her own way. She was nearly eighteen and the Head couldn't force her to go if she didn't want to—until she remembered how Harley's face a few minutes before.

She swallowed hard and came forward. 'Yes, miss. Need to, don't I?'

The Head gave her a nod and Rhiannon followed her to the car, her fingers still stroking the smooth coolness of the badge that now rested proudly on her blazer. She was somebody at school at last. She was a _prefect_.

* * *

TBC, of course. Don't forget to give me a shout!


	26. Episode 6-4

**_Review time again:_**

_**Paisley**__: I'm really glad you're still enjoying—and there's quite a bit to go!_

_**Guest**__: Hey, thanks for popping up! I'm thrilled you're enjoying the story and even more thrilled that you've taken the time to say so! ox_

_**I-Wish-Upon-Falling-Stars**__: Really? That's…great. I wanted emotional impact for that chapter but wasn't entirely convinced I'd pulled it off, so thanks for that! And oh yeah— Tom/Christine. SOOO would have worked. :(_

_**lexi**__: Aw, thanks. Plenty more to come! _

_Hope you enjoy this next bit… it's a bit of a slow burner, so bear with it! Also, I did struggle a bit with the first part, so I hope it passes muster._

_And if anyone knows where this random space came from, I'd appreciate enlightenment. *utterly bemused*_

* * *

**1.15pm, Staff Room**

* * *

'Ah, Tom. Where've you been all day?' Audrey gave the Deputy Head a pat on the shoulder as she passed him on her way to the kettle. 'Haven't seen you since this morning.'

Tom stiffened, his posture angular as he finished making his tea. He did not reply and Audrey eyed him, puzzled. 'Tom?'

He spun to face her, his spoon clanking nosily in his cup. 'I was at the School House with Christine, trying clear up your mess from this morning. What century d'you think we're living in, Audrey? The School House is first and foremost their home, not some old-fashioned boarding school.'

She backed away, her jaw dropping and her hands starting to shake from the suddenness of his onslaught. 'B—but…Rhiannon was _rude_! Surely you don't expect me to ignore that, especially at that hour of the morning!'

Tom's eyes were ice-cold. 'She asked a perfectly reasonable question. The girl's practically an adult now and she deserved more respect than you showed her, given the circumstances. If you wanna stay there you're gonna have to learn to be more flexible! And, by the way, don't expect to see any of the School House kids in class this afternoon. We've managed to persuade them to come back, but they'll spend the afternoon in pastoral care where they can grieve in peace.'

'Grieve? Then Grantly—'

'He died two hours ago,' Tom said, still in that hard tone. 'You'll be in sole charge in the house tonight, so don't muck it up.'

He turned away and Audrey stared at his back, quivering inside, but before she could make amends Christine swept in from the office side and what little desultory conversation there was stopped abruptly.

'OK, everyone, let's get through this as quickly as possible.' Christine nodded at a red-eyed Sonya as she spoke and the secretary went to pass a sheaf of papers to the nearest member of staff to distribute. Unfortunately the papers slipped from her hands and spilled over the floor, several sheets wafting lazily to land at Audrey's feet, and the Head rolled her eyes while Sonya burst into tears.

The young woman's distress got Audrey moving. She went to kneel next to a sniffling Sonya, quickly scrabbling the papers together before taking a sheet for herself and passing the newly reconstituted bundle to George, who was nearest. He accepted it without comment and Audrey sank into a chair, her eyes already scanning the sheet she held.

The protest burst from her before she had time to think. 'Rhiannon? Rhiannon Salt? As a _prefect_? I thought this was supposed to be a consultation, not a fait accompli!'

Christine's lips tightened. 'It is a consultation, Audrey. That's the only appointment we've made—but I may tell you it's non-negotiable. After this morning it was clear that something had to be done.'

Audrey gaped at her. 'So you'll _reward_ Rhiannon for how she behaved?'

'It's not a reward, it's common sense,' Tom put in, coming to stand next to the Head. 'The kids will listen to Rhiannon, and you've done yourself no favours with them today. We can't have the School House turning into chaos because the kids aren't happy with their House Mistress. They've enough to deal with as it is.'

'And how am I supposed to manage?' Audrey couldn't help the tiny quiver in her voice as she remembered how intimidated she'd felt by Rhiannon that morning. It wasn't that she didn't like the girl, but she'd been genuinely discomfited by Rhiannon's readiness to use her superior bulk against her.

Christine drew a sharp breath of before saying with exaggerated slowness, 'You'll _manage_ by treating them with respect.'

'But—' Audrey tried—only to be interrupted by a kick to the ankle that drew a muffled exclamation from her. She sent a glare in George's direction as she bent to rub the discomfort out of the abused joint, but his raised eyebrow reminded her of their earlier conversation and she took the hint and subsided, allowing the Head to continue.

'Prefects, then. For the girls, we've shortlisted Imogen, Dynasty, Rhiannon, Caroline, Sarah, Kirsty, Caitlin, Leanne, Hannah, Becca, Rani and Charlotte based on their application letters and interviews. We only need six. As for the boys… well,' her tone turned wry, 'they don't seem to have taken it too seriously. We've got a list of eight names, so only two to discard: Kevin, Connor, Jack, Tommy, Alex, Ryan, Dan—and yes, George, Barry Barry. So.' She gestured towards the assembled staff. 'The floor's yours. Any absolute positives or negatives?'

'_Not_ Barry Barry,' George grunted as soon as she finished. 'He's a criminal, not a prefect.'

Tom's strained expression relaxed a fraction. 'Normally I'd agree with you, but I don't think we've got a choice. His application was far and away one of the best.' He glanced at Christine. 'The same goes for Kevin, Jack and Connor, by the way.'

'And did Mummy help?' George muttered, not entirely _sotto voce_. Audrey couldn't blame Christine for glaring at him.

'Absolutely not. He and Kevin thrashed out their applications by themselves.'

'H'mmm.' George cast her a sceptical look as he slid down in his chair. 'And what about Dynasty and your dear daughter-in-law, did _they_ have any assistance?'

Audrey gained a certain satisfaction from returning George's kick at that point, her mouth twitching when the French teacher gave vent to a muffled curse as he moved his legs well out of her reach.

As for the Head, if her mouth had thinned earlier it now practically disappeared altogether, her eyes turning very cold as she looked at her old friend. 'Tell me, George, where do you think Dynasty has found the time to worry about prefectship of late, h'mm? Her letter was dodgy, I'll give you that, but she did well at the interview.'

'We really can't leave her out,' Nikki Boston put in, speaking for the first time. 'It'd be penalising her for recent events. We all know she's more than capable.'

'And Jasmine?' Audrey asked. She was still worrying about having to deal with Rhiannon in the School House. 'It seems unfair to leave her out when she's the only other sixth former to board.'

Christine's glance was so knowing that Audrey's cheeks burned. 'She didn't apply.'

'I thought it was supposed to mandatory?'

'That was the aim but we couldn't force them into it,' Nikki said mildly. 'To be fair, most of them did apply. Jasmine was one of a handful who didn't.'

The Head was glancing at her watch. 'Come on, people. Time's marching on and the bell will be going soon. Look, here's the list the SMT have come up with, perhaps it'll save time if I tell you our preferences: Imogen, Dynasty, Rhiannon, Caroline, Becca and Hannah for the girls. For the boys'—she flicked her eyes in George's direction—'we have Barry, Kevin, Connor, Jack, Alex and Ryan. Does anyone have any violent objections to those?'

There was a nebulous murmur in response from the staff at large. George Windsor groaned and slipped further down his chair, folding his arms, stretching his legs as he did so, while his eyes very pointedly drifted shut. Only Audrey raised a hand and Christine nodded encouragement.

'I'm not objecting,' the history teacher began hurriedly as she brushed a fleck of dust away from the corner of her eye, 'I was just wanting some clarification. What, er, _exactly_ is it that we expect these prefects to do?'

'That's the first sensible thing I've heard anyone say in this so-called meeting,' George drawled, his lids still down. 'Chrissie?'

She ignored his provocation. 'It's a good question. In school, prefects will be responsible for running club and social activities during and after school hours. That includes the breakfast club, by the way,' she added, 'but we do still need a staff presence there. They'll also be responsible for running the event we want to hold at the end of this term. It'll be a real test of their teamwork and ingenuity as they'll only have a few weeks to pull something out of the hat but… what's life without a little challenge, eh? And what with everything that's happened we feel the kids really need something positive to focus on as we approach the Christmas break.'

A hum of agreement rose at this and Audrey raised her hand a second time, more tentatively. 'And for Rhiannon as house prefect?'

Christine's lips quirked. 'Ah… well, that will largely be a matter for the two of you to work out, Audrey. Her main role is to act as a go-between but I do want her to feel she has a real responsibility over there. So get her to help out with putting the little ones to bed, for instance, or supervising them during tidy up and so on. You'll have to work it out for yourselves, so impress on her that the job is very much going to be what she makes of it.'

Audrey nodded her understanding and Tom spoke up, his voice lifting as the staff began to prepare to go.

'Just one last reminder, folks. There will be no School House kids in lessons this afternoon so take that chance to talk about Grantly with the others. They need to be told and they'll be upset too.'

Audrey lifted her bag onto her shoulder and turned to Christine. 'And the prefectships? When do you want those announced?'

The younger woman chewed her lip thoughtfully before saying, 'I have Year 13 last double. I'll do it.'

Tom glanced at her. 'Sure? We could do it through registration or make something of it in assembly.'

Christine looked as though she was considering it, but her expression clouded as she shook her head. 'No, I'll tell them myself.' She gave a shrug that bordered on diffident. 'If there's going to be ructions, it's my job to deal with it.'

'OK.' He touched her shoulder briefly, seemingly oblivious to Audrey watching his every move. 'I'll be off then, I'll see you later.'

'Little obvious, aren't they?' Audrey murmured to Nikki as they began to make their way to their respective classrooms.

The other woman gave a dry chuckle. 'To everyone but themselves, I think. I wish they'd get on with it, they're dancing around each other like a couple of clueless teenagers. Hey,' she stopped to give Audrey one of her straight looks, 'don't worry about Rhiannon. It'll be fine, we honestly believe this prefect initiative will do great things for the Sixth. Give them a taste of responsibility, a taste of adulthood; it'll be the making of 'em, you'll see.' She left with a gesture that was part wave and part salute, but Audrey could not be so confident, not after the contretemps of the morning.

The line between her brows deepened as she put her shoulder to her classroom door and absently called Year 9 to settle down for registration. Taken individually, it was difficult to argue with the SMT's prefect choices—but to be effective a prefect body should also be able to work as a group, and it was there that her doubts lay.

* * *

**3.00pm, Mrs Mulgrew's room**

* * *

The clock struck three and Christine sat back in her chair and studied her class, anxiety welling as she considered the announcement she was about to make. The lesson had passed with less fuss that she'd anticipated, albeit at the cost of the easy banter that usually enlivened this double period, but that didn't mean that her news would be well-received.

One by one she sought out the pupils she was most concerned for, starting with her son as he sat alone, his attention fixed unseeingly on the window rather than his work. Kevin, several desks away, was similarly distracted as he flipped his pen through his fingers over and over. He made no attempt to look at either his best friend or Dynasty and Christine's heart sank. Then there was Barry—who met her gaze with a jaunty wink that made her long to clip him about the ear—and finally Imogen and Dynasty, both of whom seemed bound and determined to avoid looking at the boys at any cost.

Imogen caught her eye. 'Is everything OK, Mrs Mulgrew?'

Christine nodded at her daughter-in-law before taking a deep breath and placing her hands palm down on the table, bracing herself against it as she called the class to attention.

'OK, everyone, I need a word, so put your things away and listen up—and _don't_ forget to have those plans ready for next lesson or you'll find yourselves landed in the cooler.'

Instead of the customary burst of murmuring and questions—teenagers, Christine knew, were the most conservative people on the planet, regardless of what they thought themselves—the class obeyed in almost total silence, and the Head's anxiety levels went up another notch.

'Right,' she began once the desks were clear, 'today's been a sad day for us all, and it's time the school had something positive to think about. So… we're ready to announce who's made it as a prefect for the coming year. It's a real responsibility and your first job is going to be to organise a fundraising event for the end of this term.' She paused, hoping for a chorus of protest. It did not materialise and the stony silence made it difficult to continue confidently. 'OK then. Remember, this is just to let you know who the prefects are; it will be up to them to decide who's going to stand for Head Boy and Head Girl and get their campaign under way. Elections are next week!'

Once again she was greeted by silence, and she pressed her lips together to wet them. This announcement should have been _fun_ but now she was starting to doubt the whole plan.

She reached into her bag for the envelope that held the badges and extracted one to show the class. 'If your name's called, you're to come up to get one of these. You'll be expected to wear it, by the way, so I advise that you pin it to your ties—or blazers, if you prefer. Imogen and Dynasty, you're first so up you come. Congratulations!'

The girls came together, Imogen collecting hers with an awkward smile, but Dynasty looked uncertain, her hand hovering above the badge.

'Are you sure, miss?'

''Course.' Christine leaned to pick up the badge and press it into Dynasty's hand. 'There was never a question in anyone's mind about making you a prefect. But'—her voice dropped so that only Dynasty could hear—'we're not forcing you. Tell me at any time if it's too much, OK?'

The girl's drawn face brightened and she nodded and returned to her seat, her head bent as she examined her new badge. Christine suppressed a sigh and tried to force a smile as she summoned the remaining three girls to her desk. The worst was yet to come.

At last it was the boys' turn, and she rattled through the easy ones first: Jack—with a reminder to keep his hot temper under control—followed by Alex and Ryan, both of whom grinned broadly as they collected their badges.

'Connor,' she called. Her son jerked to attention, his eyes flying wide, and Christine beckoned. 'Come on, come up and get your badge.'

Connor remained where he was, staring at the back of Imogen's head as though he was willing her to turn and tell him it was all right. She did not, and the straight line of his shoulders broke. 'I—I can't.'

Christine glanced at her daughter-in-law but Imogen was studying the laminate of her desk with a concentration that spoke for itself. She sighed. 'Connor, you've been chosen by the staff in your own right. You deserve this, so come on.'

'Yeah, you deserve it 'cos your mam's Head,' Barry sneered from his corner. 'There's a word for that, ain't there, miss?'

Christine judged it wise to ignore both him and Connor for the moment. She could always give him his in private.

'Kevin,' she called instead, and was relieved when Kevin bounded up to retrieve his badge in almost his usual manner.

'_Really_, miss?' he questioned, picking it up and flipping it over to examine the engineering of the pin on the back. 'You trust me to be a prefect?' The old eagerness was back on his face, and Christine relaxed into a proper smile.

'Yeah. Yeah, we do. You were a unanimous choice, Kevin.'

'Cool.' His expression turned serious. 'I won't let you down, I promise. I'll do me best.'

The Head was still smiling. 'I know you will.' She gestured to him when he showed no sign of moving from her desk, his eyes and fingers still entranced by his shiny new badge. For all his brilliance he was still such a kid… 'Go on. You can take it apart at your desk, you know.'

He gave her a bright-eyed look. 'Good idea, miss. Here, give us a paper clip.' Before she could say anything one way or the other, he'd leaned across to swipe the aforementioned paper clip from her pen caddy and returned to his seat, already engrossed in the badge.

Christine shook her head slightly, as though to clear it. Kevin often had that effect on her but this time the combination of amusement and befuddlement cleared quickly. She was not yet done, the most controversial appointment of all was still to be announced and the students were beginning to be restive, aware that the bell was going to go any second now.

'Just one more appointment,' she told them with a smile that she hoped appeared sincere. 'Barry, you're it. Come on up.' She refused to look at Dynasty as the boy sauntered up, but she could not block out the girl's gasp of protest and that tiny reminder of Barry's behaviour in court was enough to cause the Head to place her hand over the badge, imprisoning it.

'Barry,' she began, holding his gaze with hers, 'before you take this you should know that you only just made the grade. We'll be watching you. Power and responsibility go hand in hand—and if we see any indication that you're abusing yours, we'll be down on you like an entire lorryload of bricks. Clear?'

Barry turned on the charming smile he seemed able to summon at will. 'Crystal, miss.' Her hand remained where it was and his smile began to slip. 'Can I 'ave me badge now?'

Reluctantly she moved back, allowing him to take his badge just as the bell jangled for the end of the day. It was not greeted by the usual clamour of a class eager to leave as the other students remained still, watching Barry with horrified fascination as he made his leisurely way to the door.

He turned to give Christine a cocky wave, allowing the light catch on the gold rim of his badge. 'Thanks for this.' His smile slid into a smirk. 'Elections next week for Head Boy an' Head Girl, eh? Gotta have a think. Can't let that one slip, can I.'

The click of the door closing behind him was abnormally loud against the silence of the stunned class, and Christine hastened to return them to something resembling routine.

'What're you waiting for?' she chided, making an effort to speak lightly. 'Bell's gone, Year 13. You can go, so _go_!'

Most of them obeyed on the word, resulting in a crush at the door that would have drawn a caustic comment from her at any other time. Not now, though, not when she must prepare herself to face the four students to whom she was closest, the four who might quite legitimately feel betrayed by Barry's appointment as prefect.

Imogen was the first to speak. 'Christine, how could you?'

Christine tried to still the shaking of her hands as she pretended to concentrate on gathering on own bits and pieces. 'There's an old saying about keeping your friends close and your enemies closer, Imogen.' She glanced up, meeting her daughter in law's gaze. 'No matter what you might think, no matter what _I_ might think, Barry's a force in this school. Legitimising that force allows us to control it, do you see?'

'That's bollocks,' Kevin said bluntly. 'He's a pupil, Mrs M. A pupil who's over sixteen. You're not legally obliged to keep 'im. You can fire 'im if 'e puts a toe out of line, you don't need to reward him!'

Christine lowered herself to her seat, anxious to hide her trembling. 'I'm not, but I neither can I penalise him when he put forward one of the best applications we've seen this year. It would make a mockery of the whole process.'

'Whatever.' He got to his feet, kicking his chair away with a force that spoke for the violence of his feelings. 'You keep tellin' yourself that, maybe you can believe it, but I'm havin' nothing to do with it. Here!' He chucked the badge in her direction and she automatically flinched, but it went wide and landed with a high chink to one side of her desk. 'I'm out of here!'

Imogen was studying her desk. 'Don't be angry with Kevin, miss. If I'm honest I almost want to do the same thing—but I won't let Barry have it all his own way, he doesn't deserve it.' She ended with an indignant look that spoke volumes, and Christine winced.

'No,' she agreed through stiff lips. 'He doesn't, but that's the way it is.'

'Fine, but we don't have to like it, do we,' Imogen continued. She put a hand on Dynasty's arm and gentled her tone. 'Comin', Dyn?'

Slowly, Dynasty pushed herself to her feet, moving creakily as though she'd just aged twenty years in as many minutes. 'Yeah.' She refused to meet Christine's eyes.

She sighed.

'Dynasty—'

The girl did not pause in her progress towards the door, and Christine's throat closed, her vision clouding with tears as the girls left without a backward glance. That left her alone with just Connor, who'd remained like a statue as his desk throughout the whole exchange.

'Well?' Christine prodded. 'Have you anything to say?'

He stumbled to his feet, slinging his bag over his shoulder. 'Do you care?'

'Oh, here we go.' Christine allowed her own bag to fall with a clump back onto her desk and crossed the room to stand at the door, blocking her son's exit. 'Come on, then. Don't hold back. You never have before. What does St Connor think this time?'

'God, but you're a bitch,' Connor told her in a low tone that hurt all the more for its very evenness. 'You don't care what I think, this is school stuff, so it's none of my business, is it. You're just lookin' to pick a fight 'cos you're tired and miserable and I—I won't let you. Not this time!'

She leaned against the door, her heart screaming in protest even while her frazzled and overstressed brain found more venom to spew. 'Aww. Playing at amateur psych now, are we? As if you know anything about it, so why don't you do me a favour and get over yourself.'

Connor's jaw hardened. 'Let me past.'

'Why? You've nowhere to go, now Imogen's left you.'

Connor's lips tightened and his nostrils flared as he launched himself at her, pushing her away from the door so that he could escape. Startled and off balance, she staggered back against the wall, the impact knocking the breath out of her—and returning her to herself.

'Connor—'

It was too late. He was gone and she couldn't blame him. She dropped her head in her hands and cursed herself, cursed this whole horrendous day that had pushed her to breaking point and revived old habits that she'd sworn to put aside. Only drinking would have been worse… Her fingers dug deep through her hair, the nails cutting into her scalp, and she gave a little moan.

'Christine?' The voice was familiar. 'Is there something wrong? Connor's just nearly knocked me over—'

'Go away, Tom,' she ordered hoarsely.

There was a moment of quiet and she thought he'd obeyed. Inwardly she crumbled a little more, closer to complete collapse than she'd been in months—until she registered that he had not left, but was standing watching her with startled eyes.

She whimpered, an undignified sound that scalded her pride. 'Go away,' she implored a second time, knowing that she couldn't keep it together for much longer and desperate for him to leave before she gave in. '_Please_.'

'Hey.' He came put his hands on her shoulders. 'Come on, whatever it is, it can't be that bad. Tell me.'

She tried to jerk back out of his hold but she was already at the wall and there was nowhere to go. Her head turned so that she need not face him as she stammered, 'Don't t—touch me, please d—don't touch me… just leave me alone, leave me be—'

'No.' His hands stayed where they were. 'I'm not moving until you tell me what's goin' on.'

The voice was soft, like the touch, and Christine belatedly realised that the touch was not threatening. It was warm and steady but essentially light. She could throw it off with little more than a shrug of the shoulders—and with that understanding the survivor she'd become managed at last to overrule the instincts of the frightened girl that lurked beneath.

She exhaled in a shuddery gasp and turned her head to meet Tom's worried eyes. 'I'm sorry.'

'It's OK.' His hands moved, rubbing warmth into the stiffness of her shoulders. 'What happened?'

The gentle, caring tone was all it took. The emotions of the day—guilt, rage, fear, grief, exhaustion—coalesced into one inexpressible whole and a strangled sob broke from her, one that she tried to repress by clapping her hands to her mouth, her entire body shaking as she struggled to harness the storm.

'Let it out,' Tom instructed gruffly as he pulled her into a hug. 'It's been a hell of a day, hasn't it? There's no shame in breaking down.' His own voice roughened. 'Just let it out, it's the only way. We'll deal with the rest of it later.'

'W—will we?'

''Course.' He pulled her closer, and gradually she relaxed against him, her arms embracing him as he was embracing her while the room darkened with the encroaching autumn evening.

* * *

Yikes. This is getting a bit heavy, isn't it? Really gotta get some humour in there. Would you people believe that when I started in fanfic—nothere, incidentally—I was known for writing crazy humour? H'mmm... Well, hope you enjoyed and don't forget to drop us a line!


	27. Episode 7-1

_Thanks to **Paisley** and **Guest** for their reviews! This chapter is actually dedicated to **Paisley** for two reasons: firstly to say thanks for your support throughout this story, and secondly because purely by fluke your review has anticipated a development in this chapter—so much so that I was momentarily confused over whether or not I'd posted this!_

_Lots of junior Mulgrew-Barry plotting to come!_

* * *

**7.30am, Mulgrew House**

* * *

'I forgive you,' Imogen whispered as she drew in for a kiss. 'I love you, Connor.'

Connor.

_Connor_.

'Connor!'

His eyes flew open as cold hard reality hit him in the shape of his mother, bending over him as she literally shook him awake.

'Are you OK?' she asked uncertainly when he failed to give her any sort of greeting. They'd been on icy terms since the week before, even after she apologised. 'I was worried, you wouldn't wake up—'

He threw off the hand that still lay on his shoulder. 'That's 'cos you disrupted my dreams like you always do,' he snapped. 'Is it any wonder I didn't want to wake up?'

'That's not fair. It's not my fault Imogen decided to return home!'

He pulled his duvet over his head, blocking her out. 'Go away, Mum.' He _was_ being unfair, he knew it, but the knowledge did little to improve his temper.

'You need to get up for school,' she said. 'It's election week. Aren't you standing?'

'What's the point? Who'd vote for me anyway, loser Connor who can't even keep his wife?'

There was a pause before his mother said, 'I think you should. I think you'd be great, you're bright, you're sensitive, you've got plenty of ideas—'

'Mum!'

'OK, OK, I'll leave you to it. Try not to be late. It doesn't look good.' Her last words were accompanied by the gentle click of his bedroom door, and he sighed and pulled his duvet away from his face.

He supposed she was right, but he couldn't summon the will to care. The arguments of the week before were seared into his brain, their results profoundly disturbing the very foundations of his world. Imogen had moved home and was little more than casually friendly in school. Dynasty refused to have anything to do with him, pointedly getting up and crossing the room if she saw him coming, and even Kevin had become something of an absentee friend.

'I need to support Dyn, mate,' he'd told Connor earnestly the Friday before. 'She means more to me than anythin', and since you're Public Enemy Number One—'

'It's OK.' Connor had done his best to speak normally. 'I understand.'

Only he didn't. The past year had granted him the precious gifts of friendship and love, and over the last seven days he seemed to have blown both. Once he'd have shrugged it off and returned to living in his own head, but that was no longer satisfactory, he didn't want to go back to living that miserable half-life.

There was a quick rap on the door. 'Connor!'

He made a face at the exasperated note in her voice as he exerted himself to fling back the covers and literally roll out of bed. He could hear his mother banging around in the kitchen and the noise gave him some much needed incentive; that meant she was nearly ready to go and if he could move quickly enough he might be able to cadge a lift in. It'd be better than walking to school by himself, better than encountering his best mates and watching those same mates turn still and silent as he passed.

Another double rap at the door. 'You've got ten minutes,' his mum called, and he hastened to grab his trousers and scramble into them.

'I'm comin' with you, don't go without me, please.'

The door cracked open and she peeked in as he pulled his shirt over his head, already more than half buttoned with the tie dangling limply. 'Are you?' Her surprise made him wince.

'Yeah.' He straightened his tie with a sigh. 'Mum—'

'We'll talk about it later,' she said hurriedly. 'Come on.' She glanced from her watch to him, the beginnings of a smile tugging at one corner of her mouth. 'I'll let you drive.'

His head dropped as he toed into his shoes and slung his bag over his shoulder. She was only trying to be nice, he told himself as he trudged after her towards the car. He'd better get control of himself and try to be nice back. At the rate he was going, his mother was the only person who cared whether he was alive or dead.

* * *

**8.00am, Barry House**

* * *

'Kace! C'mon!'

Barry's yell resonated with impatience, and Kacey sighed and zipped up her jacket, anxious to defend herself against the cold. 'I'm comin',' she called, heading for the top of the stairs. 'What's your hurry anyway? Since when 'ave you liked school?'

Her brother grinned as she reached the foot of the hairs, reaching out to free a lock of hair from where it had caught in her zip. 'Places to be and people to see, kiddo. Today,' he went on, striking an attitude that made her roll her eyes, 'yer bro is gonna become the most important person at Waterloo Road. Ain't that worth bein' early for?'

Kacey snorted as she brushed past him. 'Important, you? Get a hold of yerself, Barry. Even if you get it you'll just be Head Boy, big deal. D'you really think Mulgrew'n'Clarkson'll let you run things? They don't trust yer an' I don't blame them!'

'Oi!' He grabbed her coat lapels and pulled her to him, glaring at her in the way he knew upset her. 'Listen, _Munch_, you're me sis. I expect you to support me in these elections, d'you get that? You owe me, after all that Robbie crap last term. Made a right fool of us, you did.'

She shook her hair back from her face and returned glare for glare, hardly able to believe her own daring. 'And _that_,' she spat, 'is why I wouldn't vote for you if you were the last boy in the school, Barry. You're a bully. I used to think you were amazin', I really did, me big brother who could anything. Now I know better an' my tick will deffo not be in your box!'

Before she could move away he had her pinned against the front door, one arm twisted painfully behind her back. 'Don't push us, Kace!'

'Why, what're you gonna do? Grass me up to Steve-o's gang?' It was some satisfaction to see his lips twitch at that, as if some indignant protest had just been pulled back. 'You haven't anythin' on me, _bro_, an' if you make another move like that one I'm gonna report yer. Some prefect behaviour that is!' She stormed past him and was taken aback when he ran ahead of her to block her exit from the gate, his hands spread wide and a mournful expression on his face.

'Aw, don't be like that. Wassa matter with wantin' some support from yer, eh? You're me wee sister. Us Barrys are supposed to stick together!'

Her lips thinned as she looked up at him through her lashes. 'Yeah? Shoulda thought of that before you accused our Dyn of blaggin'!' His arms fell to his sides. 'Are you gonna let me pass?'

To her surprise he stood back and let her go, and she exhaled in relief as her feet carried her away from him to the comparative safety of school. Her mother still thought the sun shone out of Barry's rear end; Waterloo Road's staff did not. That gave them wit in her book. Her shoulders relaxed and she put her head down, bracing herself against the wind, and prepared to speed up when she was arrested by a single statement.

'I know yer secret, Kace. I know yer wrong in the 'ead, I've seen how much weight you've lost, kiddo, an' I know '_ow_. Take one more step an' I'll have you sent to the funny farm with all the other freaks!'

An icy sweat broke out, even under her heavy layers, and she turned slowly to face him, her hands deep in her pockets to hide their shaking. Barry smiled genially, and for a moment she thought she was going to be sick all over his precious knocked off designer trainers.

She wet suddenly dry lips and lifted her eyes to his. 'Fine. What d'you need me to do?'

* * *

**8.30am, School House**

* * *

'Chop chop or you'll be late,' Miss McFall half-urged, half-sang in that cheery way that made Jasmine long to hit her. No-one should be that happy at half past eight, she told herself as she disposed of the vast majority of her toast in the bin and prepared to make her escape.

'Jasmine, I saw that,' the teacher scolded. 'Haven't you had anything to eat this morning?'

'I'm not hungry, miss,' she protested. 'Me stomach gets upset if I eat first thing, honest.'

'Well, it's not good for you,' Miss McFall said as she ducked towards the fridge and returned with a small container of plain yoghurt. 'Eat this, dear. If you've got a rum tum it'll help, I promise.'

Jasmine's nose wrinkled with distaste and tried to move away. 'Naw, you're good, miss. I—er—I can't have no dairy. Allergies, see.'

'H'mmm.' The older woman eyed her suspiciously over her glasses. 'We'll need to get that checked out, won't we?'

'Whatever you say.' Jasmine continued to back towards the door—only to be stalled once more.

'Jasmine!'

She bit off the retort that wanted to come. She'd promised Mrs Mulgrew she'd be polite. 'Miss?'

'I've already told Rhiannon but you can pass the word along as well, given that you're also Sixth,' Miss McFall told her with a wink, and Jasmine mentally rolled her eyes. Did McFall think she _wanted_ to be a prefect? Fat chance. 'House Meeting after school. Four sharp. Pass it on.'

'House Meeting?' Jasmine echoed. 'What's one o' them?'

McFall's eyes twinkled behind her glasses. 'Be on time and you'll see! Just one of my little ideas to help you all out. Now, off you go or I'll get in trouble with Mr Clarkson and we wouldn't want that, would we.'

'Oh no, miss,' Jasmine agreed, laying on the irony a little more thickly than she intended as she backed towards the door and through it.

Once it had closed she gave a sigh of relief; McFall really was a bit of a pill first thing even if she was miles better than the bints at the care home… She glanced at her watch. It was nearly a ten minute walk to school, and registration wouldn't start for fifteen. Plenty of time to saunter in without having to look over her shoulder all the time, given that the others had already gone in without waiting for her. She took a deep breath, enjoying the bitter nip as the frigid air whistled through her nostrils. It stung back of her throat, but that was OK; it was still a beautiful morning, bright and blue and frosty.

She'd just reached the top of the slope that lead to the school when she heard her name and she turned, not a little startled.

'Thought that was you,' Dynasty told her with a half-smile as she and Imogen approached arm-in-arm. 'How's it goin' in the School House?'

Jasmine blinked. Dynasty had shown something resembling friendliness since the trial in the shape of the occasional smile, but this was the first time the other girl had actually spoken.

'It's—it's OK,' she admitted with a shrug. 'Better'n'care, anyway.'

'And how's McFall?' Imogen asked. 'Rhiannon's not happy. Something about having to chase you all for a meeting?'

Jasmine grimaced. 'Yeah, McFall said. I dunno what for, but I don't trust 'er. She's up to somethin'. I 'eard Harley say last night that McFall was tryin' too hard an' takin' advantage of Maggie bein' off.'

'Tell Mrs Mulgrew,' Imogen suggested.

Jasmine shook her head vehemently. 'No way. I'm not a prefect, it's not my job to grass.' She pulled at the sleeves of her blazer and looked at Dynasty. 'An' you? How're you, after—'

Dynasty's face hardened. 'Survivin', somehow. I'm stayin' with Imogen for now. I'm not livin' with Barry and as for Connor, I'm havin' nothin' to do with 'im until he wises up.'

Imogen squeezed her arm. 'Give him time, Dyn. It must be hard for him too, all this.'

'Yeah, I get that, but 'e doesn't seem to get that I'm not 'is mother,' Dynasty retorted. 'This is my life, it's got nothin' to do with 'im.'

'I don't get it,' Jasmine said blankly. 'What's Connor and Mrs M got to do with it?'

The other two exchanged glances that lay somewhere between rueful and wary, and Jasmine pinked all the way to her hairline.

''S OK, you don't have to say if it's private,' she muttered. ''Snot 'sif we're mates or anythin'.'

Astonishment filled her when Dynasty took her arm. 'Hey, don't you talk like that,' the other girl scolded. 'You were well good in that courtroom, an'—an' I know it must've been 'ard to do. If I had to do that to our Barry… even now, I dunno if I could.' She paused, chewing her lip. 'I owe you, so I'll tell yer. But you gotta keep it quiet,' she went on anxiously. 'I don't want it round the whole school.'

Jasmine pinked again, this time in pleased surprise. 'You trust me?'

'Yeah,' Dynasty said with a decisive nod. 'Think I do, and… well. I'm pregnant.'

'What?' Jasmine felt as though the breath had been knocked out of her. 'Is it—is it Steve-Os?'

All at once Dynasty's manner changed, the forced gaiety dropping from her like a cloak. 'Might be.' It was nearly a whisper; the glance she sent Jasmine verged on pleading. 'I'm not gonna take the risk. I'm gettin' rid. Bookin' it today.'

Jasmine was lost for words; the glare coming from Imogen warned her that she must step very carefully. Fortunately she was spared the need to reply when Barry Barry strolled up, Kacey at his heels.

'So how you doin', sis?' he called, hands deeply pocketed as he chewed a piece of gum. 'Ready for battle, are we?'

'Meanin' what?' That was Imogen, trying to be stroppy.

Barry's grin widened. 'Election day, innit. An' I think I can say it's gonna be a landslide victory—for me.' He lifted a hand. 'See yous later.' He left, still trailed by a miserable looking Kacey.

Jasmine turned to Dynasty and saw that she'd drained chalk white, her eyes looking black by contrast.

'Are you OK?' Imogen asked anxiously, resting a hand on her arm.

Dynasty threw her off. 'I'm fine, Im, stop fussin'.' Gradually her eyes returned to their usual deep blue and Jasmine was startled to see her lips quirk in a smile. 'So our Barry thinks he's gonna have it all 'is own way, does 'e? Well, 'e's got another think comin'.'

'What're you gonna do?' Imogen demanded.

Dynasty's answer was to link her arms with the other two, looking from one to the other. 'It's obvious, innit? Barry don't play fair, an' if he gets Head Boy he'll play even dirtier. Can't have that, can we?'

'How can you stop it?' Jasmine asked, hardly daring to believe that she was talking to Dynasty Barry like this, as if they were proper mates. 'I mean, who's gonna stand against 'im? 'Everyone knows 'e 'as Jack over a barrel and Connor an' Kevin, well…' A silent shrug indicated her opinion of those two.

For a moment she thought she'd gone too far as Connor's wife and Kevin's girlfriend responded with narrow-eyed stares.

Then Imogen sighed, the corners of her mouth turning down. 'Last week if anyone had said that about Connor I'd've clocked them. This week…. she's got a point.'

Dynasty nodded slowly. 'Yeah. At least Kevin's makin' an effort. An' that's what _we've_ gotta do. Can't believe I didn't think of it before.' The other two cast her questioning looks, and she lifted a shoulder. 'Like I said, it's obvious. I'm gonna stand for Head Girl. Nobody knows Barry better than I do, and nobody can keep 'im in line like I can. 'Sides, he owes me, big time.' She paused and looked up at the school building, the line of her mouth straightening with determination. 'Get ready, Waterloo Road. You're not gonna know what's hit yer!'

* * *

**TBC**

* * *

Please review? Very discouraging to only get a couple after putting several hours of work in. :(


	28. Episode 7-2

_Hi all! __I'm __**so sorry**__ for the delay in updating; I meant to tell you last time and I forgot. I've been on holiday for the past week—just back on Sunday night—so I've literally had no time to write. I expected I would have, I even brought the computer with me, but we were in Andalucía and I found that my head was invaded by fifteenth century Spanish history instead, as per my user pic. However, I've managed to bring it back to Waterloo Road as I'm determined to finish this fic and the end is now moving into sight—for me, if no-one else! I hope you enjoy this part—I'm a little nervous that the aforesaid fifteenth century invasion has thrown things off-kilter a bit—and as always I'll be glad to hear what you think._

* * *

**10.30am, Mr Clarkon's room**

* * *

Clarkson was droning on and on about drugs and the danger of addiction in their PSHE class, and Connor allowed his attention to wander from the teacher. It wasn't as if he needed any lessons on addiction, after all; he'd lived with it his entire life. Even now, his mother hadn't completely kicked the habit. He'd found the bottle of vodka she'd stuck under the sink along with a variety of bleaches and other cleaners—no doubt hoping he wouldn't find it—and the top had been loose, as though someone had opened it. Granted, only the smallest amount of vodka was missing, little more than a tablespoon's worth, but Connor had seen red. He'd thrown the rest down the sink then and there and carefully refilled the bottle with water; it was his own little test for his mother, and so far she'd passed. So far.

Gradually it dawned on him that Mr Clarkson was calling his name and everyone else was looking at him.

'What?'

Mr Clarkson's eyes narrowed as he studied him. 'What did I just say?'

'You were goin' on about addiction,' Connor spat. 'I don't need to listen to that, do I. As you should know, as cosy as you and my mum have been lately!'

The little rustles and murmurs that came from the class stopped, as though his words had flicked a switch.

Mr Clarkson's jaw hardened but his tone was level when he responded. 'As it happens, we stopped talking about addiction five minutes ago, Mr Mulgrew. We're currently discussing university applications. Any thoughts?'

Connor gaped, looking and feeling like a complete idiot. 'Er—'

'I'll come back,' the teacher promised, giving him a look. 'Pull yourself together, mate. OK, Jack. Fire away.'

Connor huddled down as Jack rambled happily about universities with a good rep for football. Eventually, Mr Clarkson moved from him to Kevin, and Connor's erstwhile best mate glanced up with a tiny shrug.

'Not a clue, sir.'

'That's crap, Kev,' Rhiannon called from the back. 'Oxbridge you are, everyone knows it.'

'She's right,' Mr Clarkson nodded. 'You could get into Oxbridge, Kevin—unless you've got a better idea?'

'Maybe.' Kevin began to absently play with his pen.

'And?' the teacher encouraged.

The pen clattered to the floor and Kevin bent to lift it. 'Was thinking of America,' he muttered as he straightened.

'What?' Dynasty jerked out of her seat. 'America? You'd go away? You'd leave me?'

'No… I—I was thinkin' we could both go,' Kevin stammered as she stood over him. 'Get away. New start. No Steve-O. No B—' He stopped abruptly.

'No Barrys, is that it, eh,' Barry Barry called. 'See, Dyn. I was right all along, weren't I. He only wants to take yer away from us.'

Connor watched as the line of Dynasty's back went rigid, her lips a straight line as she spun to face her brother. 'You know what, he's right. America sounds well good. Get away from you and your stirrin' in my life!'

'I'm only lookin' out for yer,' Barry tried to protest.

'No! No, you're not. You're tryin' to _control_ me. 'Cos that's what you do to women, Barry. An' you're doin' it to Kace too, aren't yer. Well, I won't let you!'

'OK, Dynasty, sit down,' Mr Clarkson ordered, moving to stand in front of the girl. 'Go on.'

She obeyed, reluctance plain in every movement, and their form teacher returned to the front to nod at Imogen. Connor's gut clenched painfully as his wife's dark head lifted. They'd talked of university only in the most general terms, only in terms of what they'd study… not where they'd be. They'd assumed they'd be together.

'I—I was thinkin' of Durham,' Imogen said in a rush and Connor found himself struggling for breath. 'It's a good uni, it's great for the arts, and it's known to be good if you're deaf.'

'Good choice,' Mr Clarkson approved, only the briefest of glances towards Connor betraying his surprise. 'You're wise to think in terms of meeting your needs, Imogen. There's no point in going anywhere if you don't feel supported in meeting your potential. OK, Connor. Back to you.'

He was too stunned to answer, still trying to process what Imogen had just said. Durham. Durham in England, moving far away from Scotland…he'd always assumed they'd go to one of the Glasgow universities. Away, but near home. Close enough if his mother needed him.

'Connor?' Mr Clarkson pressed.

'Wastin' yer time, sir,' Dynasty said with a curl of her lip.

'Oi, enough,' the teacher chided. 'Connor. It's OK if you don't know yet, we're just talking at this stage.'

''E prolly just wants to stay near 'is mammy,' Barry said spitefully from the back. ''Cos that's all 'e is, a mammy's boy—'

Connor kicked his chair back, his bag bumping his side as he tried to pass through the aisle to the door. It was leave or kill, really kill, Barry Barry. Imogen caught at the strap, halting him.

'Con—'

'Don't call me that,' he said hoarsely. 'You've no right. You're goin' away, leavin' me.'

'Please, listen.' Her eyes were pleading. 'Just listen. I'm not leavin' you, but there's more for us out there. We can't hang around here forever.'

'You mean _you_ can't,' he said, thinking of that bottle under the sink.

Her eyes snapped. 'Oh, for God's sake, Connor, man up! Your mum's a grown woman, she can—' She caught herself with a little gasp, as if remembering where they where and who Connor's mother was.

Thankfully, the bell intervened at that moment and Mr Clarkson hurried the class out, insisting that even Dynasty and Kevin follow him. Kevin's glance was sympathetic, and it heartened Connor, allowing him to face his wife squarely once the classroom door had closed on them.

'It's all right for you. Sally's a nutcase, she is, but she can cope by herself. My mum—' His throat closed. 'I can't leave her, Im. I can't. I gotta stay close.'

Imogen's eyes turned shiny. 'Then you're gonna have to choose,' she said softly. 'I love you, I love your mum, but I'm not gonna sacrifice my future for either of you. I've done my research. Durham's the best place for me, the place where I can achieve more than I could in Scotland. This'—she indicated her ears and the nearly invisible hearing aids—'limits my choices as it is. I can't let anyone else limit them more.'

'Then go,' he choked out. 'Just go, just… do whatever you need to do.' He turned away, his fingers driving through his hair as he struggled not to fall apart.

'I'm not leavin' you, Con, I'm not,' she insisted, her voice echoing as though coming from very far away.

He made no response.

The door opened and closed, but it barely registered in his brain. He was too busy struggling with the old urge to run, to burn, to destroy as his life was destroyed.

* * *

**10.50am, Crush Hall**

* * *

'You stupid or somethin'?' Hidden by the wall that separated corridor from crush hall, Dynasty paused as she heard the aggressive note in her young sister's voice. 'OK, here's it in baby words. You vote for Barry or he'll be after you to repay them loans you got, til you've nothin'.'

Imogen tugged at her sleeve. 'Dyn? What's happenin'?'

Dynasty glanced back at her friend and raised a finger to her lips. 'Kace's out there,' she mouthed. 'Threatenin' other kids to support Barry.'

Imogen's eyes widened. 'But why?' she mouthed back.

Dynasty shrugged and inched along the wall, the better to overhear.

'…paid up,' the other kid whimpered.

'Not accordin' to Barry you didn't,' Kacey sneered. 'An' you know 'e won't let it lie, will 'e? But…he'll let you off this time. If you vote.'

There was a pause.

'How's he gonna know?' Kacey's victim asked, the defiant note seeming forced to Dynasty's ears. 'It's s'pposed to be private. Anonymous, innit. I can vote what I like!'

'Right.' Kacey sounded amused for a beat. 'Wrong. If 'e loses, 'e's gonna know it's 'cos those that should 'ave didn't vote for 'im. So if 'e loses, all them debts… they'll triple.' Her voice dropped. '_Triple_. An' you owe him how much?'

There was a noise that could only be described as a squeak, and Dynasty cautiously peered around the corner in time to see Kacey release the kid she was holding in place with her arm across his throat. Her victim rubbed his throat and glared.

'How'd you know I'm not gonna go to Mulgrew?'

Kacey's stance shifted. All at once she looked vulnerable and beaten, as though she was the victim rather than the aggressor. ''Cos Barry'll still get you either way, cos that's what 'e's like, an' no teacher can protect you all the time.'

Dynasty studied her sister, her initial horror at Kacey's actions replaced by a furious certainty. She remembered how unhappy the younger girl had looked that morning, remembered Barry's insufferable smugness, and she reached out to grab a startled Imogen by the wrist and pull her into the nearest senior toilet.

'Out,' she ordered the gaggle of Year 9s who shouldn't have been there in the first place. They gawped at her and she gave them her best glare, the one she'd learned from watching Mrs Mulgrew. 'Whatcha lookin' at me like that for? I'm a prefect,' she reminded them, indicating her new badge with a flick of a nail. 'Go on, get, or I'll be 'avin' words with Mrs Abernethy about yous not respectin' authority.'

The Year 9s capitulated, and Dynasty maintained her Mulgrew-style glare until the door had shut behind the last one. Then she turned to her best friend, chewing her lip at the thought of what she was about to say.

Imogen shook her head. 'It's OK,' she said quietly. 'I think I know what you're gonna say. Your Barry's got hold of Kacey somehow, hasn't he?'

Dynasty nodded, her throat closing at the thought of Barry turning against Kacey as he'd already turned against her.

Her friend smiled, a smile that verged on wistful. 'You were right earlier,' she remarked. 'About you bein' the only one who can keep him under control. So… you want me to back down, right? You want me not to stand?'

'If it was anyone else, I'd tell 'em to go ahead, because there'll be deputies too, won't there? But you could _win_, Im. You could be it, I know you wanna be it.' Her friend's eyes dropped, and guilt twisted in Dynasty's belly. Imogen had enough odds stacked against her as it was, the Head Girlship would give her something solid to put on her UCAS form, something to show how capable she was, deaf or not. 'I—I'm sorry,' she muttered. 'I shouldn't 'ave asked, should I.'

'Don't be daft, I understand.' Imogen swallowed, the skin pulling along the line of the almost faded scar. 'OK, I understand where you comin' from. I might even agree with you,' she added, trying a smile. 'Barry's sneaky enough to win this an' he needs a Head Girl who can go head to head with him, an' no-one's better at that than you. But Dyn, are—are you _sure_? With _that_ an' all?' She touched her own belly, gingerly, as though it burned.

Dynasty flinched. She'd almost forgotten. 'That don't matter. It'll be over soon, but Barry as Head Boy won't be. He's had it all 'is own way lately an' it's bad for 'im. Someone needs to pull 'im in or there'll be real trouble all round. And Kacey—' She shook her head. 'Kace's been through enough this term. She don't need him on 'er case as well.'

'OK, let's do it.' Imogen twisted to look at the election poster behind her, the one that said, VOTE PROGRESS, VOTE STEWART and ripped it away from the felt notice board, leaving Dynasty's where it was. The only other poster, showing their classmate Caroline grinning inanely, was also left. Imogen tapped it. 'She's no threat, but have you thought that she could end up as your deputy?'

'No way,' Dynasty assured her, linking her arm with Imogen. ''Cos I've just had a better plan. Let's do it properly, like they do in real life, in parliament.'

'What?'

Dynasty squeezed her friend's arm. 'Stand with me, Im. You be my—my runnin' mate.'

Imogen's eyes began to sparkle. 'Like the Americans do?'

'Is that what it is?' Dynasty shook her head in bemusement at Imogen's knowledge. 'OK, the Americans then. So? Will you? 'Cos then you'll definitely be me deputy an' that's better than just bein' a prefect, innit?'

She knew she was right in making the offer when Imogen's determined smile turned into a megawatt beam.

'D'you mean it?'

'You bet I do.' Dynasty's chin lifted. 'I don't want no-one else.' The bell rang for the end of break and she indicated the door with her head. 'You're free now too, ain't yer? Shall we go to the library to plan?' Her blood was up, the prospect of outwitting her brother allowing her to push the other worry to one side, the worry of that afternoon's appointment.

Imogen's smile widened even further. 'So what are we waitin' for?'

Still arm-in-arm, they passed down the corridor, encountering a melancholy Connor as they did so, and the muscles in Imogen's arm bunched, communicating their tension to Dynasty, who tossed her blonde curls and led her friend past her husband without a backward look.

Once they were safely seated, Dynasty nudged Imogen, knowing by her downcast expression where her thoughts lay. 'What are you gonna do about 'im?'

Imogen began to twist her wedding ring around her finger. 'I dunno.'

Dynasty found herself remembering that poster, the one that said 'vote Stewart' instead of 'vote Mulgrew.'

'Don't you wanna be married no more?'

Imogen's head snapped up. ''Course I do, I'm not leavin' im, no matter what 'e thinks.' She sighed. 'He's just… he's just gotta realise, his life can't revolve around his mum forever. I just wanna make him _think_.'

For the first time since their argument the week before, Dynasty felt a pang of pity for Connor.

'From the look of it he's doin' plenty of that,' she observed, recalling the burdened stance of their classmate. 'An' that poster of yours can't have helped.'

Imogen's expression turned troubled. 'I know.' She looked at Dynasty. 'Oh, Dyn, I'm worried about him. He takes everything so—so _personally_, he worries about it and it eats him up inside. What if he does somethin' stupid?'

Dynasty was silent for a long moment before she made a decision, rising to her feet and extending her hand to her friend. 'C'mon. We're gonna do somethin' about it.'

'What?' Imogen demanded. 'What can we do?'

'We can get rid of them posters for a start, now you're not standin',' Dynasty told her firmly. 'An' then we're gonna use the paper to make little cards that we're gonna hand round everyone, tellin' 'em to come to us if Barry's gettin' at them.' Her jaw hardened. 'We might not be able to prevent Barry from getting Head Boy, but we can bloody well prevent him from screwin' this school up, you 'eard Mrs Mulgrew when she gave us the badges. All we need is the right ammo!'

Imogen gave her a knowing glance. 'Sure. But this isn't all about the school, is it?' Dynasty remained quiet. 'This is about revenge,' Imogen continued gently, her soft syllables making Dynasty wince. 'Isn't it?'

'So what if it is?' Dynasty threw at her. ''E deserves to pay for what 'e did, doesn't 'e? An' it's my right to make 'im pay!'

'Yeah.' Imogen hesitated, and then said: 'Just make sure you don't pay too.'

A chill rippled along the back of Dynasty's neck at that, lifting the little hairs there, and she shivered. Imogen was into second sight and stuff like that, she remembered, and sometimes… just sometimes… her blue eyes took on an otherworldly glow that gave Dynasty the creeps.

She gave a little laugh. 'You're a right nutjob, you are,' she said, trying to keep her voice light. 'I'm goin'. Are you comin'?'

'Are you sure?'

Dynasty's lips thinned as she recalled Barry that day in court, as she thought of Kacey's beaten demeanour only an hour ago. 'I'm sure.'

She was, she told herself fiercely. Barry deserved whatever he got.

* * *

TBC


	29. Episode 7-3

_Thanks for the reviews! Yep, I had a great holiday. We were in Málaga and Granada. I recommend both, especially the latter—everyone should see the sun set over the Alhambra at least once! It's really quite magical._

_**dustdancingintheflickerlight**__: I was nearly going to do my teacher training in Durham, but ended up in Liverpool Hope instead. Similarly, we thought I'd go there for my degree because of the support for deaf students, but then my local uni (Queen's Belfast) set up its own unit so I went there instead. Always thought Durham looked magnificent! _

_**Paisley**__: yup, you got that right. You'll have to be patient, though!_

_**elmo12356**__: The twists are yet to come, I think. Glad you like!_

_Those of you hoping for a quick resolution to the Connor/Imogen split, I'm afraid you must wait a little longer… _

_Enjoy!_

* * *

**1.00pm, Head's Office**

* * *

'Christine? You asked to be reminded when the elections started.'

Looking harassed, Christine glanced up from the accounts she was struggling with and grimaced at her secretary as the younger woman peeped around the door.

'Thanks, Sonya. I suppose I'd better go instead of stewing over these.' She flicked a finger at her laptop's screen, the gesture expressing distaste.

Sonya was sympathetic. 'Shall I have a go at 'em? I bet my accounting's more recent than yours.'

Christine gave a forlorn laugh. 'That wouldn't be difficult as I'm completely rubbish. I'm an English teacher, not an accountant, I don't mind confessing I haven't a clue what I'm doing with these most of the time.' She sighed, brushing her hair behind an ear. 'I'd love to hand them over, but they need my signature and I'd have to go over them again myself anyhow, so…!' She pushed herself to her feet as she finished, weariness dragging her down. It had been a difficult few months, between one thing and another, and she was starting to look forward to the holidays as a prisoner looks forward to release.

Always ready for a gossip, Sonya entered properly. 'Who d'you think it'll be? There's bets goin' on in there,' she added, jerking her head towards the door that connected the office to the staff room.

Diverted, Christine paused from extracting her hopelessly squashed sandwiches from their grave at the bottom of her bag. 'Really? Who's the favourite?'

'Dynasty for 'ead Girl,' Sonya responded promptly. 'Head Boy, they're not so sure. Seems like only Barry Barry has been doin' any canvassin'.'

The Head threw the sandwiches on her desk and leaned against it with a groan. 'I know. I tried to talk Connor into doing something this morning, but he wouldn't have anything to do with it.' Her lips compressed as she remembered her son's tangible depression. 'Then again, he's still not talking to me—or Imogen either.' She sighed a second time. 'If Barry gets it, George Windsor's never going to let me hear the end of it.'

Sonya's face crinkled in a grin. 'Shall we 'ave a look?'

When they arrived in the hall, Christine was dismayed to find that the atmosphere was not at all what she'd had in mind when she conceived the plan. Instead of the several defined candidates she'd hoped for, there were only four and two of those four were absolute nonentities. Her lips thinned even further as she noted the complacent look on Barry's face and Dynasty's narrowed eyes as she watched her brother's every move. If Sonya—and the staff—were correct in their predictions there would be serious ructions.

'Get Imogen,' she murmured to Sonya as pupils continued to file past on their way to the impromptu booths. Even they were quiet and subdued, there was nothing resembling the debate she'd intended, as if the result was indeed a foregone conclusion and they were simply going through the motions.

'You wanted to see me, miss?'

Roused from her absorption, Christine turned from watching Year 11's dispirited progress through the booths and forced a smile at her daughter-in-law; apart from her lessons with Year 13, she'd seen almost nothing of the younger woman in the past week.

'Yes.' She indicated the stage where most of the prefect body were gathered. 'I thought you were standing for Head Girl?'

Imogen's gaze was bland. 'Did you?'

Christine huffed in exasperation. 'Look, this is turning into a farce. I agree that Barry Barry doesn't deserve to be a prefect, I agree it isn't fair—but you of all people know that life isn't fair. If I'd refused to make Barry a prefect when he submitted one of the best applications of the lot, he'd have had a grievance. Can you imagine the mileage he'd have got from that?' Imogen said nothing, and Christine reached out to touch her lightly on the elbow, compelling her attention. 'I don't want him to be Head Boy any more than you do.'

'It's too late for that, miss.' Imogen sounded bitter. 'Kevin's chucked 'is badge. Connor's gone AWOL, and the only people who take Jack seriously are Mr Clarkson and the football team. Barry's gonna be your Head Boy, you better get used to it.'

Christine nibbled on her lower lip, the cogs of her brain whirling at the implicit challenge. 'No. No, I won't.' She grabbed her daughter-in-law's wrist. 'Come on. I've got a plan.'

She pulled Imogen into her office and sat down in front of Sonya's computer, firing up _Word_. It was the only computer connected to the printer, and time was of the essence.

'I'm changing the rules,' she told a wide-eyed Imogen as she began to type, her fingers flying. 'As soon as we get these done, _all_ of you prefects become candidates.'

'But what about the votes already taken?' Imogen protested.

'They can bloody well be retaken,' Christine said grimly. 'Find Tom. Tell him to set off the fire alarm.'

Imogen goggled at her. 'Set off the—_Christine_! Are you nuts?'

Exhilarated at the prospect of being able to _do_ something, of being able to take control at last instead of being merely fortune's hostage, she grinned. 'Probably. Come on, Imogen, help me out here. This is what you wanted, isn't it?'

She was startled (and touched and relieved) when the girl gave her a fervent hug and danced away, calling for Mr Clarkson as she went. She was still smiling when she typed the final name on the prefect list and placed the document in the print queue before extracting her mobile and calling Kevin's number. He'd resigned, but she hadn't accepted it—and one way or another, she was determined to get him into her band of senior prefects. If—despite all her efforts—Barry Barry _did_ become Head Boy, Dynasty would need all the support she could get.

* * *

**1.25pm, Hall**

* * *

Dynasty chewed her lip anxiously as her fellow pupils entered and exited the hall in near-silence, many with furtively betraying glances directed at her brother. He stood across from her, arms folded and legs slightly akimbo, and her blood boiled when she saw how he acknowledged those looks with a regal nod and a curl of lip; next to him Jack looked nothing more than a foolish boy, his smile becoming increasingly strained by the second.

She gave him a slight nod and felt better when he seemed to relax and stand straighter; perhaps he could be a contender after all, although she doubted it, not when Barry seemed to have the other kids so well and truly under his thumb. As if he could read her mind, Barry caught her eye at that moment and one lid went down in a wink. Once upon a time she'd have tossed her head and winked back, enjoying the conspiratorial reminder that they were both Barrys, standing shoulder to shoulder against the world—but now it made her uncomfortable and her lashes dropped, shielding her from him even as she wrapped her arms about herself in self-defence; neither Imogen, Kevin nor even Connor were present, and she was all alone.

It was a relief when the fire alarm went and Mrs Mulgrew appeared at the hall door, calling for them to get out as quickly and as quietly as they could. Dynasty tried to brush past, still hurt and angry that the older woman had even put them in this position in the first place, but the Head stopped her with a touch on the shoulder.

'Trust me,' Mrs Mulgrew said softly. 'Barry won't have it all his own way, I assure you.'

Dynasty gulped and lifted her gaze to her Headmistress's. 'With all respect, you don't know that. 'E's well sneaky, is our Barry.'

The lines around Mrs Mulgrew's eyes deepened as the corners of her mouth quivered. 'So am I, love. So am I.' She glanced in the direction of the door and the playground beyond. 'Go on. Imogen's waiting for you. She'll tell you all about it.'

Intrigued, Dynasty obeyed. Mrs Mulgrew spoke only too truly, she found, for as soon as set foot on the steps outside the double doors, her friend pounced on her, her eyes sparkling.

'Did Christine tell you?'

Dynasty's brow wrinkled. 'She said you'd tell me.' She glanced about them; Mr Clarkson was standing in front of them, bellowing at Year 7 for messing around. Beyond that, however, there was something a bit off in his manner. It wasn't urgent enough.

The penny dropped.

'This isn't a drill, is it.' Her eyes roved the school buildings, seeking out any sign of smoke. 'An' it's no fire neither.'

'Nope.' Imogen's face split in a wide grin. 'Christine told me to tell Mr Clarkson to set the alarm off, to distract everyone from the elections.'

'Why?'

Imogen chortled. 'You'll see. Watch.' She gave a wave. 'Oi, Kev! Over here, come on!'

Dynasty glanced at her boyfriend through her lashes as he joined them with his characteristically sheepish smile. A current of affection for him ran through her, warming her, and she linked her arm with his. 'Did you know 'bout this?' she asked. 'What Mrs M and this'un's been up to?'

'No-one knows,' Imogen put in before Kevin could answer. 'Only Christine, Mr Clarkson, and me.'

Kevin's brows shot up. 'Not Connor?'

Dynasty dug her elbow in his side for that as Imogen shook her head, the light rapidly dying. 'I haven't seen him.' Her eyes began to scan the lines, a line deepening between her brows. 'I don't see him here either. Better go find the silly div.'

Dynasty nodded her understanding as she slipped away, but as Mrs Mulgrew began to speak she forgot all about Connor as the Head revealed her plan: as of this moment, all twelve prefects were automatically in the running to become Head Boy or Girl. It was up to the school to decide, she told them energetically, and she was trusting them to choose well. There was a lot of shuffling and awkward murmuring at that, and Dynasty's heart sank; it was, she felt, too late. Barry's claws were too deeply embedded. Then her brain caught up with her ears and she pinched Kevin on the arm, a smile hovering.

'_Twelve_ prefects?' she whispered.

He grinned and dug into his pocket, retrieving the little shield he'd flung at Mrs Mulgrew the week before; it lay gleaming on his hand. 'She made me take it back. You're gonna be Head Girl, she says, and she wants us to support you. Though I'd do that anyhow,' he added staunchly, and she squeezed his arm in response.

'She might be wrong,' she reminded him. 'She said we're all standin' now, not just Barry, Caro, Jack an' me. Imogen could get it. _Rhiannon_ could get it, she's well popular with the kids.'

He wrapped his arms around her, holding her tight. 'I'm still 'ere for you,' he muttered into her ear. 'Whatever. You know that, right?'

Dynasty clung to him, her throat closing. ''Course.'

'I love you, Dyn.' The gruff words were a balm after these months when love had seemed elusive, even occasionally from him. '_Really_ love you, I'd marry you today if that's what you wanted.'

She moved closer at that, unbearably touched by the offer, and smiled as he kissed her forehead. Kevin was still such a slender sapling of a boy, but she felt safe with him in a way she'd never felt safe with Steve-O; then, she'd believed that it was good to feel a little intimidated by her man, she'd confused fear with sexual _frisson_—and paid the price.

The thought reminded her of that afternoon's appointment.

'Kev….' Her fingers played with his tie, tracing the lines of red and gold. 'Will yer come with us? To the clinic?'

Held so close, she could feel the spasm of tension that went through him. It was gone almost at once, but she knew it was there. She drew back.

'Forget it, it's OK. Imogen's comin', you don't 'ave to—'

He pulled her close again. 'Don't be such a bimbo.' She smiled a little at that; it had become their joke. She was no bimbo and he knew it, and—more importantly—she _knew_ he knew it. ''Course I'm comin'. You couldn't keep me away…but Dyn—'

She glanced up at him. 'What?' Despite herself, her voice hardened. 'Gonna try and talk me out of it again?'

Kevin's eyes were steady. 'No, not if it's what yer want. I just want you to be sure.'

'Oi, you two!' Mr Clarkson looked irate as he approached them, preventing Dynasty from answering. 'What are you doing still standing out here? Go on, get in, the pair of you! You're both needed in hall, the elections are on.'

Kevin grinned, the cocky grin she'd fallen in love with, and held out his hand to her. 'Come on, Dyn. We're wanted. You're wanted,' he added with a smirk and wink. 'Dynasty Barry, Head Girl. Sounds good, innit?'

He pulled her past Mr Clarkson, and the Deputy Head looked amused. 'Lad's got a point, Dynasty. What are you waiting for?'

* * *

**1.45pm, Mr Clarkson's room**

* * *

The classroom was empty, and after five minutes of being mired deeply within his own solitary misery it finally occurred to Connor that something was wrong. The bell had not gone for afternoon registration, and a glance at his watch told him it was late. Neither his compeers nor his form teacher were in evidence, and a glance at door and window revealed that both the playground and corridor were deserted. Something was going on, and he supposed he should care enough to investigate. He pushed his chair back with a muffled scrape and stumbled to his feet and out of the classroom; the door swung closed with a bang that reverberated through his skull, and he winced, falling back against the wall and trying to persuade his depression-numbed brain into action.

The sound of heels clacking along the floor brought him to reluctant attention; it was a rhythm he knew well and he braced himself for the inevitable onslaught.

'_There_ you are!' his mother snapped as she reached him. 'Where've you been? Come on, you're wanted in hall.'

'What's the point? I told you, I'm not standin'.'

Her hand reached out to clamp his arm in a vice-like grip. 'That's all you know, son. You're a prefect, you're a candidate for Head Boy whether you like it or not.'

'That's not fair!'

'Neither is it fair to allow Barry Barry to threaten and bribe his way into the position,' his mother told him grimly as she urged him down the corridor towards the hall. She glanced at him, her hazel eyes cool. 'You would know this if you'd been where you should have been during the fire alarm. You're lucky it wasn't really a drill or you'd be in serious trouble, young man.'

His stomach swooped at that, at the confirmation that she'd noticed his absence. He'd had to get out, he'd had to get away or do something desperate, but he'd thought he'd managed to get out and back without anyone seeing. Of course, he couldn't know about the drill…

He stopped. 'Mum, _what_ drill? You're Head, health and safety says you have to know where everyone is in the event of an alarm… and you knew I wasn't there and you didn't chase it up. That means you had that alarm set off deliberately, didn't you.' His eyes narrowed. 'What are you up to?'

Her grip on his arm eased. 'I told you, I won't let Barry have it all his own way, he doesn't deserve it.' She looked at her watch and picked up her pace. 'Come on, hurry. The ballot's about to close.'

'What about afternoon lessons?'

'This _is_ a lesson,' she said firmly as she pushed him through the double doors of hall. 'Go on, up to the stage.'

Unwillingly he obeyed, his trainers dragging on the polished floor as he picked his way to the stage and mounted the short flight of steps. He should have felt better when Imogen mouthed 'Where've you been?' at him, but her eyes did not linger; she was standing arm-in-arm with Dynasty, and was clearly too keyed up to worry overmuch about him.

Depression sank on him once again, a black blanket that lay between him and the world. He listened numbly when his mother announced the end of the elections and told everyone to applaud themselves; he followed the rest of his fellow-prefects from the hall to cluster in Sonya's office while the votes were being counted, and he remained quiet throughout the nervous chatter and speculation that followed.

Sonya came, her face wreathed in smiles. 'Come on, you lot,' she chivvied. 'The results are in. Come an' 'ear what you got!'

Imogen and Dynasty, closely followed by Kevin and Barry, were first out; Connor found himself caught with the others and swept with them through the corridor and back to the hall. The entire school was waiting, clapping, and his weak head protested at the barrage of sound. He would have fallen back, but a jab from Rhiannon in his side kept him moving towards the front to where his mother stood.

She was smiling, her hands moving in one of the expansive gestures she used when teaching or addressing the whole school; he'd often suspected that deep down his mother was a frustrated actress.

'Democracy is a wonderful thing when it's well used,' she began impressively, her smile fading. 'The ability to choose your rulers is, or should be, a right—but it is one we should never, ever, take for granted or allow to be abused.' For a fleeting moment her eyes rested on Barry before the smile reappeared; to Connor, who knew her so well, that smile seemed a little stretched.

'So,' she continued. 'The results. You've chosen Barry Barry as you Head Boy; he took no less than 80% of the vote, so we can definitely call this a landslide victory.' Barry smirked, and Connor saw his mother's lips tighten. She tried to prevent this and she'd failed. 'Head Girl is Dynasty Barry, with an impressive 60% of the vote. She's followed by Imogen Stewart'—Connor's heart thumped painfully at the sound of his wife's maiden name—'with a good 20%, and Jack McAllister with 8%.'

Jack burned a fiery red, and Connor couldn't blame him; that 8% was searingly insignificant next to Barry's 80%. Surely his mother would stop now, he thought, cringing at the prospect of his own probable result.

She did not.

'Kevin Chalk stands at 5%, likewise Rhiannon Salt.' Like Jack, Rhiannon turned red, but her smile revealed her pleased surprise. 'The rest of the girls got 15% between them, while the boys, I'm sorry to say, managed only 7%.'

There was a burst of laughter from the girls in the hall at this, and Connor felt colour touch his own cheeks as anger against his mother rose. What the hell did she think she was playing at, humiliating them—humiliating _him_—like this? He knew he was unpopular, he didn't need it rubbed in, salt scrubbed into an open wound when he was already down and out.

His mother clapped for attention and the hall quietened.

'So there you have it. Dynasty Barry, Barry Barry, come here, please.'

Connor watched with a certain grim amusement as the siblings joined her, Dynasty flashing Barry a look that could kill.

His mum was still talking.

'Deputy Heads, you're to come up as well. Imogen Stewart, Rhiannon Salt, Kevin Chalk, and Jack McAllister, you've all made it. Congratulations. Come and get your badges!'

The sound of clapping once again crashed over Connor as the four obeyed, and he watched as Imogen threw her arms around first Dynasty, then Kevin, and finally Jack, laughing and talking excitedly as she did so. Jealousy wound green-fingered tendrils through him. He still considered Jack to be the worst kind of imbecile, but Imogen had developed an easy friendship with the other boy during Connor's short-lived sojourn in the PRU two terms before. She'd never mentioned it again and he'd always assumed the friendship had died a natural death once he'd expressed his dislike, but it was clear now that his assumption was mistaken. Jack's flirting was blatant, and Imogen's wide-eyed, dimpling response indicated that she did not object.

He turned away, sick at heart, and slipped unobtrusively from the hall, his feet taking him through the doors and around the side of the school to where the wooden benches stood—only to stop abruptly when he found he was not alone.

'What're you doin' here?' he demanded harshly. 'You should be in there, celebratin'. Great day for the Barrys, this.' His tone was bitter.

Kacey did not look up, one hand bouncing a ball over and over again. 'Great day for _a_ Barry, you mean.'

He dropped down beside her. 'Which one?'

'Take a guess.' She looked up, meeting his gaze, and his breath arrested in his chest. She was gaunt and red-eyed, the orange lamp above them highlighting the hollows at her cheeks and temples. 'I 'ate 'im, Connor. I really '_ate_ 'im. He does nothin' but destroy people's lives, 'e's as bad as Steve-O in 'is own way—' She broke off and averted her face, only the trembling line of her shoulders revealing the effort she was putting into retaining her composure.

He rested his elbows on his knees and sighed. 'I know.'

'An' it's not just me,' Kacey went on, the thump-thump-thump of her ball providing a counterpoint to her words. 'It's what 'e's done to our Dyn too.' She sniffled. 'I want 'er '_ome_. I want me sister back.'

He shifted stiffly on the bench, the cold reaching through his trousers and stealing upwards to his heart. 'Give 'er time, Kace. Her head's not in the right place just now. Maybe after she's—she's done it.' He had to stop to lick dry lips. 'You know. Got rid.'

Kacey looked puzzled. 'Rid o' what?'

'You don't know? She didn't tell you?' Kacey's expression answered for her, and Connor dropped his head into his hands. 'You don't know.'

There was a pause before she said, very quietly, 'If our Dyn's in trouble you gotta tell me.'

'But if she didn't want you to know—' The irony of it, that he should be protecting Dynasty in this situation was not lost on him.

'She's me _sister_, Connor! Tell me!'

He dropped his hands and turned to look at her. 'She's pregnant, Kace.' Kacey bleached white, and he softened his tone. 'Yeah, exactly.' He took a deep breath. 'She's havin' an abortion.'

'Oh.' She gulped. 'I see.' Once again, she began to bounce her ball, her face screwing up as she attempted to fight back her tears. Connor sat in silence, unsure of what to do or say.

'Can—can you leave me now?' she whispered, her eyes still fixed on her ball. 'I need to be by meself. _Please_?'

'Course.' He rocketed to his feet, relieved that she'd given him permission to go. 'You be OK?'

'Yeah. Ta.'

Somehow, he doubted it. Just now she looked so vulnerable, so fragile, that it seemed a gust of wind could blow her away.

'Talk to someone,' he ordered awkwardly as he began to move away. 'You gotta talk to someone, Kace.'

'Sure.'

He swallowed hard and made his own slow way back to building, his feet crunching in the diamond-hard frost.

* * *

**2.15pm, Outside Waterloo Road**

* * *

Unseen by either, beyond the fence, a black-clad figure moved away, his eyes calculating. He'd discovered more than he'd expected, and he knew where to get the rest of the information he needed. And then… well… revenge was, after all, a dish best served cold.

* * *

TBC


	30. Episode 7-4

_Here we go again! I'm cracking on here as quickly as I can as I really want to finish this in the same week the first part of Series 9 ends. Whether I achieve it is something else, but I'm going to try._

_Thanks as always to reviewers; you make my day, make me smile, make me think, and keep this going. Comments below!_

_**Paisley**__: Aww, thanks! Yes, poor Kacey's getting a rather rough ride here. And it's only going to get worse..._

_**funkypen1**__: Yay! I'm always happy when people say they're responding emotionally to what's happening in the story. _

_**Hiyaitskerry**__: Thanks so much! Hope you stay hooked—and a little more info coming up. _

_**elmo12356**__: Dynasty would be a fantastic HG, I think. She's got the strength for it, even in the scenario I've got her in. _

_**NothingLeftToSayImagineDragons**__: Thanks :)_

_**Jessiekat89**__: I've been wanting to include more of Christine's manipulative side, as per the actual Series 9. I'm really glad this worked for you. And yes, I think your hunch may be dead on..._

_And now: fasten your seatbelts, it's going to be a bumpy night…_

* * *

**3.15pm, Crush Hall**

* * *

'You did it, flower! Deputy 'Ead Girl! What did I tell yer, eh?'

Audrey watched as Maggie Budgen received an enthusiastic and indisputably heartfelt hug from an elated Rhiannon and tried to ignore the hurt that lanced through her. In forty years she'd never been embraced by a pupil like that, no matter how hard she tried to make herself beloved.

'It'll be good for her,' someone said behind her and she turned to see Christine smiling at the pair as she adjusted her bag on her shoulder. 'Give her confidence a boost.'

Audrey couldn't argue with that, especially when she herself had been the staff member to uncover Rhiannon's history of self-harm. If she was honest, deep down she'd hoped that perhaps that would lay the foundations for the development of a deeper bond between them, a bond to compare with that of Tom Clarkson and Kacey Barry, or Christine and Dynasty—or Maggie and the School House kids _en masse_. The last weeks had put paid to that. The School House kids had still not forgiven her for not telling them the truth about Grantly's condition on the very day he died. Rhiannon had done her best in Maggie's absence, but it had been clear that her heart wasn't in it, and more than once Audrey had seen the prefect slip out of the top-floor flat that was sacred to the Budgens. Nor was Rhiannon the only kid to do so; indeed, it seemed that the only School House resident who was _not_ a frequent visitor to the bereaved Maggie was Audrey herself.

'How's she doing?' Christine asked.

Audrey glanced at her, brow crinkling. 'Maggie?' Her shoulders lifted. 'Fine, from what I can see. Or as fine as one _can_ be,' she added quickly in response to the look in the Head's eyes.

'You're jealous,' Christine commented, and Audrey twitched at her perspicacity. 'Jealous of their relationship.' She nodded towards the little cluster of students around Maggie, all of whom were talking nineteen-to-the-dozen as if they hadn't seen her properly for weeks.

Audrey sniffed. 'That's ridiculous.' It lacked conviction, even to her own ears.

'Audrey.' Her friend's gaze was compelling. 'Audrey… you try too hard. You _hover_. They're teenagers, they don't want us over them all the time.'

'I'm supposed to be their housemistress,' she protested. 'I need to know what they're up to.'

To her surprise, Christine grinned. 'No, you don't. Believe me.' She sighed, tapping Audrey's arm with a forefinger. 'Just back off, yeah? Make sure they keep the rules, do their work, and don't kill each other or burn the house down. Beyond that… well. I'm not one to preach, you know how shaky Connor and I are.' Her lips thinned as she mentioned her son. 'All I can say is, let them come to you. And they will, when they're ready. But you can't force it.'

It was the voice of experience, Audrey knew, but all the same, she couldn't help thinking that Christine's situation was not analogous with her own. She was not trying to rebuild a shattered bond with her child; she was simply trying to find a way to reach out to the teenagers with whom she now stood _in loco parentis_.

_And make a difference_, her conscience reminded her sardonically in a tone that was too close to George Windsor's for comfort. _Make a difference so that you can believe you matter, that someone cares…_

She dismissed that still small voice with a mental wave. Instead, she smiled at the younger woman, forcing it until she could feel the wrinkles bunch at the corner of her eyes.

'Thank you, Christine.' She glanced towards Maggie and kids again; they were starting to move off in a group. 'That reminds me. I've a couple of ideas I'd like to try. May I?'

Christine's eyebrows vanished behind her fringe. 'Such as?'

'It was Tom who made me think of it,' Audrey told her brightly, leaving aside the context of Tom's comment. 'He said something this morning about traditional boarding schools, and I thought, well… he might have a point. We should poach some of their methods. For example, prep time. At the moment the School House children come and go as they like, and they fit their work wherever they choose. I've even seen them try to finish a essay at breakfast!'

'H'mm.' Christine studied her. 'Don't forget, Audrey, that we're not a traditional boarding school. We don't have that–that structure. Oh, by all means _try_,' she added hastily when Audrey's face fell, 'anything that raises standards is worth trying, but you need to get the kids on side first. They don't need more disruption at this point.'

'I'll go slowly,' she promised with a more genuine attempt at smiling. She hoisted her bag on her shoulder as Connor came up to them, despondency in every line, and stood broodingly next to his mother. 'Thanks.'

The Head nodded, but it was clear her attention was distracted. 'No problem.'

'See you tomorrow, then!' Audrey winked at both Mulgrews. 'You too, Connor. Cheer up, it can't be that bad!'

Ignoring the fixedly rigid smiles on their faces, Audrey departed for the School House, a spring in her step and plans fulminating in her brain. _This_ was how she could make her mark on the School House and prove her worth as Housemistress, even if she wasn't Maggie Budgen.

* * *

**3.40pm, School House**

* * *

Jasmine sat quietly in the Common Room, the chatter of the others flowing around her as they waited for McFall to come to start her precious House Meeting. Several feet away Rhiannon stood by the big bay window, frowning as she took the register with punctilious care, and Jasmine eyed her with an emotion that lay between scorn and regret. She hadn't lied when she'd said she didn't want to be a prefect, but she couldn't help feeling wistful when she saw how attitudes had changed towards her fellow Sixth former in the past weeks; Rhiannon was treated with a new respect by staff and pupils alike, and even Jasmine could see how she blossomed under it.

'Right, we're all 'ere,' Rhiannon announced with a nod that set her purple pony tail swinging. 'Lula Tsibi, it's time you went 'ome. It'll be dark soon an' you know Maggie don't like you walking home alone in the dark.'

'I'll take 'er,' Harley volunteered, popping up like a jack in the box.

Rhiannon grinned, her eyes crinkling. 'Forget it, sunshine. McFall wants all of us for this meetin' of 'ers and I'm the one who'd get pasted if you was to go AWOL. Lula'll be fine if she goes now, there's still enough light.'

Looking disgruntled, the Fifth year got to her feet. 'You must tell me _everything_,' she told Harley as she shrugged into her coat. 'McFall is up to something, I know it.'

Harley's serious face lightened as he looked up at her, and Jasmine, taking in interest in the doings of her juniors for once, found herself wondering if there was anything between them. Lula certainly seemed to be the only person who could make Harley smile just now.

'I'll text yer once she's done,' he promised.

'You must pay close attention,' Lula ordered over her shoulder as she went to leave. 'You must not miss anything. It could be important.'

Rhiannon pointed towards the front door, her eyes narrowing into black slits. 'Lula. Out. Now!'

'OK, OK, I am going, I am going now. This prefect thing is not so good for you, Rhiannon,' Lula continued, her voice fading as she moved towards the front door. 'You are turning into a dictator… oh! Miss McFall! I was just leaving, yes. I shall see you tomorrow!'

Instantly the mood in the room shifted to wariness as silence fell, a silence that was broken only by rustlings and the odd mutter as thirty-odd teenagers tried to squeeze themselves into sofas meant to accommodate a fraction of that number. Finally, Miss McFall entered in a flurry of apologies and drifting scarves, and the House Meeting began.

They were gaping and breathless before she had gone very far.

First, she informed them that—with the exception of Rhiannon—they were all to do supervised prep between four and six every weeknight plus an additional seven to nine slot during the weekend. They could choose which weekend slot they preferred, she added with the air of one conferring a great favour, but attend they must. There was no point in being at boarding school if they did not reap some of the advantages of boarding! Whereat most of the pupils scowled; they were not, after all, boarders by choice.

Secondly, she was going to introduce house points. They would be rewarded for good behaviour and penalised for bad; they would be given fifty house points as a beginning, but if anyone fell below forty they'd be referred to Mrs Mulgrew and Mr Clarkson for disciplinary procedures.

Rhiannon, as house prefect, raised a cautious hand. 'Please, miss, what do you have to do to _lose_ points?'

Miss McFall twinkled at her. 'Be rude. Unhelpful. Refuse to obey reasonable orders. Be argumentative. If you're late for breakfast—which will now be at 7.30 sharp'—whereat everyone gasped—'you will lose points. If you're not in prep, you'll lose points. If you don't put your light out at the proper time… well, I'm sure you get the idea.'

Jasmine was struggling to stay calm. All these silly, nit-picky rules and regulations reminded her of life in care homes, where everyone was so busy ticking boxes they had neither the time nor the inclination to actually _care_. The relative freedom of life in the School House was one of the few things that made boarding acceptable in her eyes, and if she was going to lose that as well…

And then Miss McFall applied the finishing touch by announcing that, with the nights drawing in, she was going to institute a curfew. Only Rhiannon was exempt, by virtue of her prefectship; everyone else either had to have an exeat or face penalties if they were not in the house by seven. Visitors were permitted until nine, but only if permission was asked and received beforehand.

'You can't do that, miss.' Rhiannon sounded as if she was making an effort to be polite and reasonable. 'We're not little kids, you can't control us like that.'

A murmur of agreement rose, and Jasmine twisted her hands in her jumper and bit deep into her lip in an effort to keep back the yells of protest that wanted to come. Her solitary evening walks were the only thing that kept her head together, she felt; if McFall had her way she'd be surrounded 24/7 by people who were indifferent at best and unpleasant at worst.

'Rhiannon's right,' Harley burst out. 'You can't do this miss, you're always goin' on about oppression an' dictatorship in History. If you do this you'll be oppressin' _us_!'

McFall's smile was indulgent. 'Now, now, Harley, you mustn't exaggerate. I'm just trying to help you—'

'We'll tell Maggie!'

McFall lifted her shoulders. 'That would be most unkind,' she scolded gently. 'Mrs Budgen is grieving right now. Do you really think it's right to bother her about something so foolish?' The rebellious mutters died into abashed silence, and McFall's twinkle reappeared. 'Precisely. I'm glad you can be so sensible. Besides, Mrs Mulgrew has given her permission.'

Jasmine could hear no more. She stumbled to her feet, muttering something about needing the loo right away. Someone said something about watching out in case she spewed and for once she was grateful when everyone twitched away from her, laughing; it made it easier to escape. Even McFall could not protest. She fled the common room and headed for the sanctuary of the downstairs loo. It had a large window—recreated as a fire exit—and it took mere moments to lock herself in before she clambered over the ancient sill, landing on the frozen ground beneath with a jolt that reverberated all the way to her skull. Her breath came in panting gusts as she leaned against the wall, eyes closed, and waited for the quiet and the distant sound of the lapping sea to soothe her.

It did not last; it was broken by a male voice, a voice with the familiar cadences of her hometown.

'Jas. Jas, can you 'ear me?'

She froze, forcing herself to absolute stillness.

'I know you're there, Jas. You can't 'ide from me.' The voice was closer and she tried to inch away, but her soles were heavy on the frosted ground and the crunch betrayed her.

'Don't even think about it.' The tone was menacing. 'I've bin watchin' yer, Jas Maguire. Watchin' ever since the trial. Thought you'd got away wiv it, didn't yer? Thought yer could just chum up with that Barry skank an' all, and ferget you tried to put yer own flesh'n'blood inside—'

'St—Steve?'

A low laugh. 'Not 'im. One of 'is mates, who knows loyalty better'n'you.'

'P—pete?'

'Wouldn't yer like ter know,' the voice gloated. 'I'm not daft, I can see right through yer, Jasmine Maguire. You thought you was 'ome an' dry, that'd you'd be right safe in yer little school.'

'What—what do you want?' The words emerged as a frightened squeak.

'That's fer me ter know an' you to find out, luvvy. And find out, yer will. _Soon_.'

'Please—please, leave me alone, please don't 'urt me—'

'Now why would I want to 'urt you, me old mate's sister, eh?' The tone was almost genial. 'I wouldn't 'urt you like you're thinkin'. I won't touch an 'air on yer 'ead—but I could still mess up yer lovely new life, believe me. Like, I could tell yer precious Barry mates it was you that sent them messages, that told us 'ow to get 'old of that Kacey—'

Her breath escaped in a rush as she began to sob. 'Th—that was a mistake, you can't, I didn't know then—'

'Know what, pet?'

She was sobbing in good earnest now as she remembered how nice, how friendly, Dynasty and Imogen had been that morning. 'That Steve-O did it, that 'e really raped Dynasty…'

'You sneakin' little cow!' A black shape appeared before her, ramming her against the wall. 'You tried yer best to 'ave 'im done for that, an' you failed, didn't yer. Law let 'im go. That's justice, that is, t'law's normally too ready to take the word of a lyin' little skank 'oo cries rape every time her boyfriend wants 'is rights. A man 'as needs, it's 'is girl's duty to meet 'em—'

Jasmine tried to squirm away from his grasp and he rammed her again.

'You s-said you wouldn't 'urt me!'

'I won't, if yer stop tryin' to get away,' he ordered harshly. 'Otherwise you'll get a taste o' what yer mate got.'

The threat turned her to ice and she tried to stand still, but her legs were turning to water and her teeth were chattering ferociously from a toxic mixture of cold and terror. Then, unexpectedly, he released her, standing back as she collapsed into a limp heap on the ground, the gravel biting deep into the sensitive skin of her palms.

He stood over her, blocking out the glow of orange lamp behind him; a creature of the night, a creature of her nightmares. 'I'll be watchin' yer,' he repeated with spine-chilling softness. 'Watchin' every move you make. An' next time I come callin', yer gonna give us what I want. Aren't yer, luvvy? Next time I come, Jasmine's gonna be a good girl…'

By accident or design he'd chosen the very words her father had used as he abused her, and what little was left of her defences dissolved entirely. She began to sob and gasp incoherently, begging and pleading with him to go away, to leave her alone, she'd do anything, say anything if he'd only leave her alone.

A touch ghosted across her cheek, raising the hairs on her head.

'Good ter know,' he whispered in her ear. 'Remember that, luvvy, 'cos I'll be back.'

* * *

TBC


	31. Episode 8-1

_**Review response:**_

_**Jessiekat89**__: I laughed when I read your comment and __**Paisley's**__. Most of the stuff Audrey came out with was a direct lift from my own days at boarding school in 90s. What I didn't add here is that the pill was sweetened for us because good/normal behaviour resulted in an additional 5 points week. Once you got more than 80 points (remembering we started each term with 50, so a few weeks of being sensible plus doing the odd favour here and there) you got all sorts of treats. Free cinema trip, free McDonalds/pizza, free luxury ice cream, and my personal favourite: breakfast in bed with full waiter service. It might not sound like much but in the enclosed world of boarding school it was sheer luxury!_

_**NothingLeftToSayImagineDragons**__: *g* That's the kind of reaction I like. _

_**elmo12356**__: H'mm, there's a thought…_

_**Paisley**__: I hope you enjoy how the threatening storyline pans out! Thanks :)_

_Enjoy, and keep those comments coming!_

* * *

**6.45am, Imogen's House**

* * *

Dynasty could stand it no longer. She'd been lying awake for hours, mulling over many things, and she wanted to hear a friendly voice and see a friendly face. Leaning on her elbow, she reached over to Imogen's bedside table to turn on the lamp; the resultant light chased away some of her demons, and she was able to poke her friend awake with something resembling her usual insouciance.

'Turn that light off,' Imogen grumbled, throwing an arm up to cover her eyes. 'Can't be time to get up yet.'

Knowing the futility of responding verbally, Dynasty yanked at her bedclothes, and Imogen whimpered, grabbing for them as the duvet threatened to escape.

'Don't…' One lid lifted and she eyed Dynasty with disapproval. 'Alarm hasn't gone off yet. Why aren't you sleepin'?'

Dynasty sat up properly.

'It's nearly seven.' She signed the number 'seven' for good measure; over the past weeks she'd learned a handful of signs, enough to communicate effectively with the other girl when the latter was not wearing her aids.

Imogen groaned again and turned on her side so that she faced Dynasty, blinking blearily as she pulled her duvet back up to her chin. 'Are you OK?'

'Put these on,' Dynasty ordered, handing over the hearing aids. 'I've been thinkin'.'

'About today?' Imogen asked she twisted her aids into place. 'I know it must be scary, Dyn, but you won't be doin' it alone—'

'I've been thinkin' about the meetin',' Dynasty corrected. 'The one for the charity event Mrs M wants us to 'ave.'

Imogen stared. 'And you woke me for _that_?'

Dynasty's chin lifted. 'I'm Head Girl. You're me deputy. This is important an' I—I might not want to think about it later.'

Imogen nodded her understanding. 'What time's the appointment?'

Dynasty began to pick at the wool of the blanket she'd been using in addition to the duvet Mrs Stewart had given her; Imogen's home was a Victorian terrace that leaked heat. 'Nine. I'm free first thing, if you can cover for me with Clarkson. The nurse said it wouldn't take long. She just needs to give me the second load o' pills. They gimme the first lot yesterday.'

'You don't want me with you?' Imogen sounded surprised.

Dynasty shrugged. 'Not for just pills, I don't. I'll be comin' back to school after.'

'Are you sure that's a good idea?'

Now it was Dynasty's turn to pull her blanket to her chin as she thought of the coming day. 'It could take hours to 'appen, the nurse said. I don't wanna be on me own, and where else am I gonna go? It's nothin' much, I'm only eight weeks. Nurse says it'll be like a period, there'll be some crampin' an' bleedin' an'—an' it'll be over.' She drew a shaky breath. 'I can't wait, it can't 'appen soon enough.'

'Does your mum know yet?'

She shrugged. 'I dunno, I 'aven't spoken to 'er. She's even stopped tryin' to call me, but never mind, eh.' She called forth a smile. 'Long as I've got you an' Kev, I'm not alone.'

'And Christine,' Imogen reminded her. 'I know we were pissed at her for makin' Barry a prefect, but… she's worried about you, Dyn. An' if you won't talk to yer mum, at least she understands what you've been through. You should make up.'

Dynasty shrank into her woolly cocoon. 'I've been 'orrible to 'er, Im. She won't want nothin' to do wiv me, not now.'

'That's crap. 'Course she will. Like I say, she understands what you're goin' through better than anyone else.' Imogen leaned forward. 'Promise you'll talk to her today.'

Dynasty's throat closed as she nodded.

The other girl smirked. 'Good.' Her smirk faded as she reached under her pillow for her phone; Dynasty could hear the buzz as it vibrated insistently.

'Time to get up?'

Still scowling, Imogen threw back her covers and rose, stretching. 'Yep.' She shivered and grabbed her dressing gown from the bottom of the bed. 'C'mon. Let's get some brekker. You can tell me about your ideas for the charity event then.'

Glad to have someone to chivvy her along, Dynasty followed her from the room in silence, her stomach churning at the thought of what lay ahead. In the harsh light of day the distractions of the night—such as her plans for the charity event—faded into insignificance.

* * *

**7.40am, School House**

* * *

'Late _again_, Jasmine?'

Audrey glared over the top of her glasses at Jasmine Maguire as the Sixth former tried to slip past, hoping her severity would impress on the girl that her behaviour was verging on unacceptable. She'd been late for breakfast for five days running at the cost of two house points a go, and she'd compounded her sins by being equally dilatory in her attendance at prep—never to mention her compliance with Lights Out times. Anyone would think she _wanted_ to lose points, Audrey thought with some irritation.

She tutted when Jasmine remained silent.

'That's another couple of points gone, dear. You were warned the other day. You've now managed to drop below thirty eight points, and you know what that means.'

Still Jasmine made no response—but she did not appear unduly distressed and Audrey's lips pinched at this flagrant disregard for rules. Her tone sharpened as she continued her scolding.

'You're a Sixth former and even if you're not a prefect you should remember that you're still an example for the younger ones.' The girl's gaze remained fixed resolutely on the floor, and the Housemistress huffed her exasperation. 'Fine. You're house-gated for the next week. Perhaps that'll teach you.'

'Is that all, miss?' Jasmine asked tonelessly.

Audrey had to bite back an exclamation of disgust. '_Yes_, Jasmine, that is all.'

She watched the girl slink to the counter and serve herself with a pitifully small bowl of _Rice Crispies_ before taking it to the most isolated table in the room. There was something going on there, Audrey was sure of it, but if the child wouldn't respond to offers of help there was very little she could do.

She stiffened when Maggie spoke across the table they shared.

'I think you're bein' too 'arsh on 'em; they're only kids and they've had an 'ard time lately.'

'They need discipline, Maggie,' she returned firmly. 'There's too many of them crowded in this house to be allowed to run wild. It'll be good for them to have a little structure, you'll see. I had it at school too and it never did me any harm, did it!'

Maggie raised an eyebrow. 'I'll take your word for it.' Her eyes returned to their charges. 'Grantly agreed with you; he was all for discipline and structure—in theory.'

Audrey shot her a sideways glance and saw that her eyes glimmered; whether from tears or amusement Audrey could not say.

'Putting it into practice, though…' Maggie shook her head. 'Teenagers don't like bein' on a tight leash. I know you're tryin' to 'elp, but it'll cost us in t'end, mark my words.'

'You haven't given it a fair trial yet,' Audrey protested. 'Besides, Christine said I could try.'

'So you tell me.' Maggie's gaze was knowing. 'Question is, did you tell 'er _exactly_ what you 'ad in mind?'

Audrey was too honest to lie, and Maggie gave a short nod.

'That's what I thought. Come on. Cut the kids a little slack 'ere, it's a boarding 'ouse, not flippin' Sand'urst. What does it matter if they're a bit late for their breakfast?'

The history teacher thought that over. Perhaps Maggie had a point, she conceded reluctantly. The School House kids had not taken kindly to the new regime, and their disaffection was starting to spill into school hours, disrupting her lessons.

She sighed. 'Very well.' She lifted her voice. 'Jasmine? Would you come here a moment, dear?'

The Sixth former approached with lagging steps. Audrey made herself smile while Maggie beamed.

'Come on, flower, it can't be that bad,' she said, giving the girl a light rap on the nearest shoulder with her knuckles. 'Miss McFall's got some good news for yer, 'aven't you, Miss McFall?'

Jasmine tensed, her eyes turning watchful. 'Miss?'

Audrey forced a twinkle. 'Well, given that these rules are very new, Mrs Budgen has persuaded me to give you a little dispensation. _If_ you promise to make a greater effort in future I'll return your house points to fifty and you can start again. Does that sound fair?'

To her surprise, Jasmine looked anything but pleased. She shook her head, her curls flying.

'Don't, miss. I don't mind bein' 'ouse-gated, I broke the rules an' all. I deserved me punishment, please don't lift it!' She was nearly frantic and Audrey's fine brows rose.

In a heartbeat, Jasmine's attitude changed. The look of near-fear that had so startled the staff vanished.

'I'm only doin' what you said,' she pointed out defensively. 'I'm only tryin' to be a good example, like. It's not good for them'uns to see me get off, is it?'

'But—' Maggie expostulated.

Audrey cut her off with a smile that she hoped was gracious rather than triumphant. 'You're absolutely correct, dear. I'm proud of you for seeing it for yourself; in fact, I'm so proud of you that once this week is over I'm going to return your tally to fifty anyway. Will that do?'

She could have sworn that Jasmine looked relieved. 'Thanks, miss.'

'Thank _you_, rather,' Audrey told her, beaming. 'And in the spirit of new beginnings, will you join me for the walk to school in fifteen minutes?' The offer was sincerely made, but it must be confessed she was more than a little taken aback when Jasmine agreed and departed to finish getting ready, her manner transformed from her usual sullenness into something resembling politeness.

Confounded, the older women watched her go. Audrey turned to Maggie, her eyebrows still raised. 'That was unexpected.'

The other woman was frowning.

'It was, wasn't it? There's somethin' goin' on there, I'd bet on it.'

Audrey brushed that aside, ignoring the little voice that reminded her of her own misgivings. 'Nonsense. Jasmine's simply realised that she has responsibilities here. We need to _encourage_ her, Mrs Budgen. That's the way forward with difficult pupils, I've found.'

'If you say so,' Maggie agreed, sounding as toneless as Jasmine had done some minutes before. All at once she looked tired and worn. 'Well, since you seem to 'ave it all under control, there's no need for me, is there. I'll see you later, you know where I am if you need me.'

'Take all the time you need,' Audrey assured her with a kindly pat. 'I'll be fine.'

'Yeah.' There was an odd note in Maggie's voice. 'I'm sure you will be.'

* * *

**8.25am, Head's Office**

* * *

'Hey. Everything OK?'

Christine turned from the window to give her Deputy Head a strained smile. ''Course it is. Only three weeks to go, what could possibly go wrong in that time?'

Tom grinned. 'This is Waterloo Road. Things can go wrong at any time.'

She groaned as she dropped back behind her desk. 'Don't I know it. This term's been a baptism of fire and the problems just keep coming. Even at home. Connor—' She shook her head as she thought of her son. 'He just seems to be slipping further and further into this—this _dam_ of despair and I don't know how to help him.'

Tom braced his hands flat on her desk and leaned in. 'Imogen?'

'She's still not speaking to him. Or Dynasty. God knows, I can't blame them…but I can't blame him, either. Under the circumstances.' She gave a wry smile that failed to mask the pain beneath. 'I tried talking to him but somehow it all ended up being my fault. As usual.' Her laugh was forlorn.

'He'll come round,' Tom assured her. 'He loves you. He's just a bit oversensitive at the moment.' He hesitated before asking, 'When does Dynasty have her abortion?'

'She told Sonya it was today. I still don't know the time, though.' Christine nibbled on her lip. 'I'm teaching them before break. I'll ask then. I don't want her to make a mistake.'

Tom's eyes were kind. 'Are you sure that's a good idea? Dynasty hasn't been very forthcoming with any of us lately.'

She grimaced. 'She hasn't been forthcoming with _me_, you mean. I need to ask, Tom. It's a big decision. I don't want her to spend the rest of her life regretting it.'

'Did you?'

She couldn't look at him, could barely find the voice to speak. When she did, it was in a near whisper.

'Sometimes. Sometimes, during that first year. I was an NQT and trying to be a single a mum and handle everything else… There were so many times I found myself standing next to the phone, nervin' myself to call social services and give my baby up. Perhaps I should have. Perhaps he'd be less damaged now.'

'Christine.' Unwillingly, she raised her eyes and couldn't look away. 'You've got to stop beating yourself up. You said it yourself. You were young, you'd been through hell, you were entirely alone. You're only human, just as Connor is—and he's practically an adult now, anyway. He's reached the age where he can bloody well take the blame for his own messes.' He sounded annoyed, and her surprise must have shown in her face, for he turned sheepish. 'Sorry. I'm just fed up of him using you as his whipping boy.'

'Thanks, Tom.' Impulsively, she reached across the desk to squeeze his hand and once again their gazes met and held. 'I was wondering if—'

She got no further. The door flew open and Carol Barry breezed in, followed by an indignant Sonya who was exclaiming about the need to make an appointment.

Carol dismissed the secretary with a wave, her hands going to rest on her hips.

'Christine, I wanna word wi' you.' Her dark eyebrows shot up as her glare shifted from Christine to Tom. 'Tell lover-boy to do one. This is important, this is.'

Unseen by Carol, Tom pulled a face. Christine struggled to keep her own face straight as she hastened to placate a ruffled Sonya. 'Thank you, Sonya, it's OK.' She rose and indicated the round table. 'Mrs Barry, would you like to sit down?'

'I'll leave you to it,' Tom said, giving her a nod and a smile as he left.

Christine's eyes followed him through the door, half-wishing he could stay. This conversation was going to be difficult on any number of levels and she could have done with the support.

Carol did not wait until she was seated to start talking.

'I need your 'elp to get through to our Dynasty,' she began. 'She's not answerin' 'er phone, and Barry tells me she's 'ardly speakin' to 'im, 'Ead Girl or no 'Ead Girl.'

Christine give a rueful laugh as she settled herself opposite the other woman. 'Believe me, Mrs Barry, I'd help if I could. Your daughter's not speaking to me either at the moment. She's angry that I allowed Barry to become Head Boy.'

'But you see 'er every day. I—I 'aven't seen 'er for weeks, not since the trial.'

'OK.' Christine took a deep breath and wished she'd offered Carol some coffee; she longed for something to fidget with. 'OK, I'll try. I need to speak to her today anyway.'

'About the abortion.'

Christine could not hide her surprise. 'You know.'

'Our Kacey told me. She were right upset about it.' Carol swallowed, the lines around her painted mouth deepening. 'Do you know when she's doin' it?'

Christine sighed. 'Today, or so I've been told.'

'Does she know fer sure it's Steve-o's? I mean, I don't want 'er regrettin' it.'

'No.' Christine bit her lip. 'Neither do I.' She glanced at Carol. 'That's actually what I was planning to speak to her about.'

'From what our Barry says, she might take it from you,' Carol admitted grudgingly. 'Since you've been there, an' all.'

The Head winced, hating the thought that her past, her private life, should be a matter of casual conversation for Barry Barry. All the same, she was warmed by Carol's implicit appreciation. Whatever the woman's faults, she was still Dynasty's mother. Christine could only imagine how hurt she'd be if Connor was to turn to another woman as Dynasty had turned to her.

'I'm sorry,' she said awkwardly.

'Don't be.' Carol leaned forwards, her gaze intent. 'Christine, I'm _glad_ you were there. I'm glad someone was there for 'er, when she thought she couldn't come to me. I just can't bear the thought of 'er feelin' alone—' She broke off.

'Neither could I,' Christine admitted, her own voice roughening. 'And for what it's worth, I don't believe she _has_ been alone. Her friends have been her staunch allies all the way through.'

'Includin' your Connor,' Carol said, much to her surprise.

'As far as he could,' she allowed. She sighed. 'He hasn't been happy about the abortion. It's… caused ructions between the four of them.'

Carol nodded. 'Too close to 'ome, like.'

Startled by the unexpected understanding, Christine met the other woman's eyes. 'Something like that.'

Carol's lips twitched.

'She'll come round. I know our Dyn. She'll forgive 'im in the end and she'll forgive our Barry too. I know she will. She just needs a little time.'

Christine wondered how it had happened that Carol was reassuring her instead of the other way round. 'I hope so. I'd like nothing more than to see Dynasty's life return to how it was, both at school and at home. I'd like nothing more than to see her back at home with you, or having fun with Kevin and my son and daughter-in-law.'

_I'd like to draw a line under this for both of us_, she thought but did not say. _I'd like to see her move forward with her life, and allow me to put my ghosts to rest, once and for all…_

A bell rang, and she glanced at her watch. Registration was over and she would be expected with Year 8 shortly.

Carol noticed.

'You teachin' now?'

'I'm afraid so. Would you like to wait? I'm hoping to have a word with Dynasty before break. If I get through, she could—' She stopped when Carol shook her head.

'No, I'll go on 'ome. I know our Dyn, she needs to come to me in 'er own time. She won't have nothin' to do with us if she thinks I'm forcin' meself on 'er. She 'as 'er pride.'

'OK, I understand.'

'I know yer do.' Carol rose and pulled her black leather jacket into place. 'I know I've a right mouth on me, but I want yer to know. Honest to God, I appreciate everythin' you've done for our Dyn this term. You're a good 'Ead, Christine Mulgrew, and don't let no-one tell you any different.'

Touched, Christine blinked back tears as she rose in her turn. 'Thank you, Mrs Barry.'

'_Carol_,' the other woman insisted. She smiled. 'Your kids an' mine, they're mates, in't they? When this is done, they'll still be mates 'cos this is the kind o' thing that stays with yer. We'll be seein' each other long after our kids 'ave left school, mark my words. 'Ey,' Carol nudged her, eyes sparkling, 'we might even see our grandkids playin' together an' all. Wouldn't that be a right laugh!'

She departed with a final wink and nudge, leaving a bemused Christine to gather her books and set off for Year 8 and a lesson on _Hamlet_. There was a new spring in her step as she went; Carol had, most unexpectedly, given her a new optimism. One way or another today would give them all closure and they could move on. It was, in Shakespeare's words, a consummation most devoutly to be wished.

* * *

TBC.

Comments?


	32. Episode 8-2

_**elmo12356: **Thank you! That's exactly what I'm aiming for. I wanted this to be like a text version of the TV series, if that makes sense—lots of different povs, lots of different plotlines that ultimately converge. As for Connor and Imogen, this part contains developments. :)_

_**Paisley: **LOL! Yeah, Christine/Tom is starting to pick up._

_**Guest**: *g* Thanks for letting me know every time! It means just as much._

_**NothingLeftToSayImagineDragons**: LOL. Thanks!_

_**Hiyaitskerry**: Aw, thanks. It will come to an end eventually, but we're still some way off that point._

_**Jessiekat89**: More C/I coming up!_

_Enjoy!_

* * *

**10.40am, Mrs Mulgrew's room**

* * *

'Are you sure you're OK?' Imogen whispered for the fifth time since Dynasty had returned from her clinic appointment. 'You gotta tell me if you need to—'

'Give us a break, Imogen,' Dynasty snapped, losing patience. 'I told yer, it takes four to six hours to work. I'm fine. I'm young an' healthy, it'll be fine, it's just like a period.'

Imogen looked doubtful and about to argue, but Mrs Mulgrew interrupted.

'Does this have anything to do with _Macbeth_?'

The girls exchanged guilty glances. 'No, miss.'

The Head gave them a knowing look and returned to her lecture about getting their coursework in on time. Then she set them a practice essay and told them to take the rest of the lesson to discuss their plans in pairs. 'I want that essay done in forty minutes,' she added, causing them all to groan. 'You can finish your plans for homework, but next lesson come prepared for exam conditions.'

Everyone groaned again, but there was nothing wrong with Mrs Mulgrew's discipline and they set to, even Imogen and Dynasty. In truth, Dynasty was glad to have something else to think about, and refused to discuss anything but Lady Macbeth until the bell rang, much to Imogen's visible annoyance.

'I'm only tryin' to help,' she hissed as they collected their things and prepared to go. 'You don't need to be so touchy about it.'

'Yeah, an' it's my life, not yours,' Dynasty returned, equally annoyed. 'I'm worried enough as it is, your hoverin' ain't makin' it easier.'

Her friend looked ashamed. 'Yeah, you're right. I'm sorry.'

'Aw, shut up.' A pain went through her and her smile stiffened, but she refused to confess it. It wasn't much, after all, not even as bad as her usual period pains—and her mother was always telling her how lucky she was to have easy periods, at her age.

She linked her arm with Imogen's, partly to reassure the other girl and partly for support. 'C'mon. I'm gaspin' for a drink and Barry's on canteen duty this break, I wanna keep an eye on 'im.'

By this time the classroom was nearly empty, apart from themselves, a slow-moving Connor, and Mrs Mulgrew, who looked up from her desk as they swung their bags onto their shoulders.

'Hold it, you two. I want a word.' She crossed the room. 'Dynasty.' Her voice softened. 'It's today, eh?'

Dynasty lowered her lashes and made an assenting sound. Imogen gave her a poke and a meaning glare that said 'Talk to her!' as well as any words could have done.

'Are you sure it's what you want to do?' Mrs Mulgrew was asking. 'Once it's done, you can't change your mind, you can't go back.' She paused. 'It's still very early; the law allows you some weeks yet before you must make a decision.'

Dynasty shuddered, remembering the nurse's words at the clinic.

'We only allow medical abortion until nine and a half weeks,' the woman had warned her flatly. 'Beyond that, the pain starts to resemble actual labour and we don't think it's wise to put a woman who wants an abortion through that if it can be avoided. As a result, if you wait you'll need surgery—which means greater risks and a longer recovery time.'

'I couldn't wait,' she blurted. 'It had to be now, I—I don't want it growin' inside me any longer, I don't want it to start movin', _remindin_' me—' She faltered, blinking hard.

Mrs Mulgrew touched her lightly on the elbow. 'I understand, although it'd be a number of weeks before you felt anything.' She brushed her hair behind her ears in a gesture that Dynasty knew spoke of nervousness. 'I just—I just don't want you to make a mistake and spend the rest of your life regretting it.'

Dynasty's breath hitched when she caught sight of Connor's expression, over his mother's shoulder. He looked as if his entire world had collapsed on top of him and she made a movement preparatory to saying something, to reminding Mrs Mulgrew that her son was still present—but it was too late. He was already brushing past them, his face averted.

The Head whitened. 'Connor. Connor, wait!'

The classroom door slammed behind him.

'He heard,' Dynasty whispered unnecessarily.

Mrs Mulgrew looked wretched. 'He misunderstood. I didn't mean—'

'So what are you waitin' for?' Imogen demanded truculently. 'Go on, Christine, you gotta find 'im an' tell 'im. This is the last thing he needs!'

'She's right,' Dynasty added urgently. 'Go on.'

Mrs Mulgrew gave a terse nod and began moving forward. 'I'll go. I'll find him, I'll tell him—' She stopped, her hand on the door, and twisted to look back at them. 'You know where I am if you need me,' and then she was gone.

Another pain rippled through Dynasty, and she grabbed Imogen's arm. Her friend looked alarmed.

'What is it? Has it—'

'I'm just thinkin' of Connor. What it musta felt like for 'im to 'ear that, considerin'.' She shook her head, her mouth twisting from a combination of discomfort and remorse. 'God, Imogen. We've been such bitches to 'im. D'you think he'll forgive us?'

Imogen positively glowed at the prospect of reconciling with her husband. 'Only one way to find out. Let's go. We'll let Christine finish with 'im—and then it'll be our turn!'

* * *

**10.48am, Playground**

* * *

_Thunk_—kick. _Thunk_—kick. _Thunk_—kick. _Thunk_—miss.

'Aww, hard luck!' Kacey called as she dribbled the ball back, assessing the wall with a practiced eye. 'Have another go, Jas.'

Jasmine grunted as she prepared to obey, her breath coming in small clouds that hung suspended in the crystalline air. The playground was deserted apart from herself and Kacey; everyone else was taking advantage of the prefects' new break time coffee bar scheme in the dining hall. She moved back, lining herself so that she could aim the ball directly into their virtual goal (drawn on the brick work with some chalk Kacey had enticed from Mr Clarkson), and kicked. The ball went exactly where she wanted it to go and bounced back, stopped expertly by Kacey who held up a hand in an unspoken command to 'high five'. The clap of palm meeting palm was loud in the still air, and the girls grinned at each other. More than anything, silence had come to define their strange friendship.

''Nother go?' Jasmine ventured.

Kacey grinned again and kicked her the ball. 'Go fer it. Keep it up an' you'll deffo make the team. If you want ter,' she added shyly.

'I agree, Jasmine,' Mr Clarkson said from behind them, and the girls turned to look at him. He was well wrapped up, his scarf covering his mouth and emphasising the smile lines about his eyes. 'Oooh, it's cold.' He nodded at them. 'Keep going—and I commend your diligence, but me? I'm going in!' He retreated to the sound of cat-calls from Kacey and Jasmine eyed the other girl askance.

'Doesn't 'e go mad, you talkin' like that? 'E's a teacher!'

Kacey shrugged. 'Yeah, so? Just the way we are. 'E's rude to me too when 'e fancies. Ready?'

Jasmine nodded and Kacey kicked the ball to the wall. She stopped it and repeated the procedure, keeping the ball moving in a triangular circuit. Blood thrummed in her veins, warming her as she relished both the companionship and the exercise; she was, for those short moments, completely happy.

The first bell rang and she lost focus, sending the ball wide into the bushes. Kacey shook her head.

'Every time… I'll go get it.'

'I'll come wiv yer,' Jasmine offered, unwilling to return to the tedium of lessons and loneliness. 'Was my fault.' They separated, bickering amiably about the direction the ball had taken.

'It's not 'ere,' she called after several moments of fruitless searching. 'How could somethin' like that bleedin' big orange ball just disappear off the face o' the earth like that? It's—' She broke off, the breath whistling out of her.

Pete stood in front of her, Kacey pinned against him with a knife at her throat and a hand clapped over her mouth. The younger girl's eyes were popping, as though she was struggling to breathe.

Jasmine could not speak.

Pete's grin grew. 'Told yer I'd be back, didn't I.'

'Let 'er go,' she rasped. ''S me you want.'

'Says 'oo? This'un's a Barry, ain't she? Good enough for me. We got a bone to pick wi' all of yous.'

'You can't just take 'er,' Jasmine tried. 'We're at school. They'll know she's missin'.'

The grin turned into a smirk. 'Aye, eventually. But not at once, eh? Not before I take 'er away. Not fast enough to stop me—'cos _you_ won't, will yer, Jas? 'Cos you're a good girl, ain't yer. You knows what'll 'appen if yer grass.'

Her breath was coming in frightened gasps as her mind raced in futile circles. He was ruthless, she knew, and perfectly capable of making good his earlier threat to give her a taste of what Dynasty had received from her brother's hands. Black dots danced at the edge of her vision at the mere idea, calling forth the shade of her father and those endless nights when she'd been at his mercy.

'Knew you'd be a good girl.' Pete's tone was approving. He began to back towards one of the exits, forcing Kacey to move with him.

A strangled—and useless—whimper of protest broke from Jasmine. She did not dare to do anything more; memory and fear froze her more effectively than did the bitter cold. She could only watch helplessly as Kacey was dragged away, the knife at her throat gleaming in the autumn light.

And still Pete was not finished with her. He turned to give her a wolfish grin through the railings before administering the coup de grâce.

'Oh yeah. Near fergot to say. Got good news for yer, luvvy. Steve's out, 'e got out yesterday, and he's longin' to see yer ter play 'Appy Families wi' yer. Cheers!'

He continued on his way, his jaunty nod of farewell contrasting bitterly with Kacey's helplessness and the devastation he left in his wake.

* * *

**11.00am, Playground**

* * *

Several metres away Connor crouched in a tiny clearing in the depths of the bushes, his heart thudding sickeningly in his ears as he listened to Pete's litany of threats. Common sense kept him still; Jasmine's fear warned him the man was dangerous, and when he'd tried to get a better view through the foliage he'd caught a glimpse of silver and a serrated edge.

The sight pierced the bubble of despair he'd been living in for weeks; it even blanketed—but did not obliterate—the memory of his mother's confession to Dynasty, when she'd implicitly admitted her regret that she'd kept him. Been _forced_ to keep him, he told himself, remembering what he knew of her circumstances. Unlike Dynasty, abortion hadn't ever really been an option for her.

He pushed it out of his mind; now was not the time, not when Jasmine was curled up in a heap against the wall and the second bell for the end of break was long gone. At least he had a free; he was pretty sure she didn't have that excuse. He pushed out of the bush, calling her name softly: the last thing he wanted to do was scare her off as well.

She did not answer. She was shaking too violently for speech. He unzipped his thickly padded jacket and approached warily, ensuring that she got a good view of him.

'Hey,' he called. 'Jas. Jas, it's me. Can I come closer?'

He was relieved when she gave a tiny nod, indicating that at least she'd recognised him.

'Take this,' he urged, dropping the jacket next to her. 'Looks like you need it.'

She took her time obeying, but at last she pulled it up and around her. He was not a big lad, but his coat was more than large enough to generously cover Jasmine's frail form, and regret stabbed through him. He hadn't been very nice to her this term, and the trial and what he'd just witnessed had revealed unimagined wheels within wheels.

'I couldn't stop 'im,' she murmured hoarsely as he settled himself a couple of feet from her. ''E wanted '_er_, I thought he'd come fer me—'

'D'you know where he's takin' her?' Connor asked, an idea percolating. His heart began to pound again—but now it invigorated him, reminding him that he was alive.

'No. No, I dunno. I—I wouldn't tell yer if I did—'

'Could it be the old warehouse?' he interrupted ruthlessly. 'The one by the docks?'

His idea was hardening into determination. It occurred to him that this could be the solution to his woes; if he could save Kacey he'd win back Dynasty and Kevin, and perhaps even his wife. If he could save Kacey his mother would cease to regret keeping him.

Jasmine peered at him over the top of his jacket. 'Why d'yer wanna know? 'Snot 'sif you can do anythin'.' She was still shaking, the tremors causing his jacket to vibrate. He wondered if she was going into shock.

'You should go in,' he urged, leaving aside the question of what he was going to do. 'You look shockin'. Go on in, don't worry about Kacey, I'll sort it.'

To his horror, she began to sob, words spilling out in a frantic stream of hysterical terror.

'Yer can't, yer can't, Connor! You'll get killed or she will! Don't go, please don't go, didn't you 'ear Pete? It's not just 'im, S—Steve-O's out too an' yer know what 'e's like!'

Connor squared his jaw. 'Better act fast then, hadn't I?'

Jasmine continued to weep.

'If yer get killed yer mum'll n—never f—forgive me, I'll get thrown out, and Barry Barry'll be after me too if anythin' 'appens to Kacey, please just leave it, let the teachers find out she's m—missin' theirselves—'

'Yeah, and then it could be too late for her,' Connor pointed out as he got to his feet. 'You said yourself they were dangerous. I heard what he said to you, Jas. You can't say anythin' or they'll be after you next.' He had to stop to clear his throat. 'Bad enough what's happened to my mum and Dyn. We don't need it happenin' to you as well.'

For someone who was plainly traumatised she could move surprisingly fast, latching onto his leg like a determined toddler.

'You could get k—killed,' she repeated brokenly. ''M not worth it.'

'_They're_ not worth it,' Connor retorted, gently detaching himself from her clinging hands.

She continued to leak tears at an alarming rate and he sighed.

'OK, OK, I'll send Imogen a message. Then… if anythin' happens, she'll know I loved her.' Inside, a mocking voice that sounded like his mother's when she was drunk accused him of melodrama. He winced, blowing out a second gusty sigh in a reluctant concession to common sense. 'And you… Jas, if I'm not back by the end of school you need to tell my mum. But not til then,' he insisted. 'You gotta give me a chance. You gotta let me try to fix this.'

She blinked up at him, confusion plain on her face. He gave her what he hoped was a reassuring smile.

It seemed to do the trick. She nodded jerkily.

'OK. I'll—I'll tell 'er.' Even as she said it, she shrank back against the wall, her eyes widening at the enormity of what she'd agreed to. 'But she's gonna be furious—'

His mouth twisted in a wry smile. 'Yeah, with me. Nothin' new there. Jas, this is something I need to do, OK? You go back to school and sit tight til later. Can do?'

She was still shaking when he left her at the front door, her small hands clutching his jacket. He did not consider asking for it back, despite the wind that blew off the sea with a chill that cut as sharply as any knife. Only when he had seen the double doors close behind her did he leave, moving stealthily around the back of the school, passing the kitchens and out the very exit he'd seen Pete use earlier that day.

He picked up his pace, glad he'd held onto his scarf, and dug into his cardigan pocket for his phone. He did not hesitate before his thumb began to move; he'd had this message drafted in his head for days.

_I'm sorry_, he typed. _I love you. Your Con 4ever, oxox._

* * *

**TBC**

Hey, C/I shippers, at least it's progress!

Don't forget to review—even if you're dancing mad at the stunt I've just pulled on you.


	33. Episode 8-3

_Next bit! For those of you dying to know what's happening with Connor/Imogen, only a little progress here. However, be patient, it will come! Lots of Barry goodness coming up…_

_**Guest**__: Oh, I'll try. ;)_

_**funkpen1**__: I thought it was time to show another side to Mrs B. She does care about her kids, we see that at the end of Series 8, so I didn't want to lose sight of that. _

_**Paisley**__: Good to know you're on the edge of your seat, so to speak!_

_**NothingLeftToSayImagineDragons**__: LOL! I don't know that this next bit will prove terribly soothing… _

_Thanks for keeping the comments coming, it really does help especially at the moment when I'm trying to write as much as possible. _

* * *

**11.45am, Crush Hall**

* * *

'Still no luck?' Dynasty asked as she turned the key in her locker.

Imogen shook her head mournfully.

'He's not in the library. I even asked if he was in the loos, but the Year 10s were such eejits I got fed up and left it. Sonya hasn't seen him either, she says.'

'Did Sonya say if Mrs M's 'as seen 'im?' Dynasty suggested. She was shifting from one foot to the other, a tiny line indenting her forehead, and Imogen became certain that her friend was in pain even if she persisted in denying it.

'Here, let me take those.' She took the pile of books from Dynasty and studied her, noting how her colour had faded under the makeup. 'It's started, hasn't it?'

Unable to argue any further, Dynasty nodded. She was biting into her lip now, her hands clenched tight around the strap of her bag. Imogen dumped the pile of books on the floor, next to their lockers, and tried to coax her into sitting down.

'Not—not here,' Dynasty breathed. 'Loos. Get us… to the loos.'

When Imogen obeyed, holding the other girl's arm, she was disturbed to find that she was taking more of Dynasty's weight than she'd expected. The pain must be greater than Dynasty was admitting, she thought anxiously as she leaned on the cloakroom door to open it.

Thankfully, the toilets were quiet.

Dynasty went to lean over the sink, bending almost double, a sound that was halfway between a groan and a sob escaping her lips.

'It hurts, Im,' she whispered as Imogen began to rub her back. 'I didn't think it would hurt so much—'

'Didn't they give you pain relief?' Imogen asked. ''Cos they said it would hurt, didn't they?'

Dynasty huffed. 'I said no, 'cos they said it'd be like me periods, right? I don't take nothin' for them, didn't think I'd need anythin' for this…oh, _God_.' She doubled over, and sank slowly so that she was nearly on the floor, her head resting on the rim of the sink. Imogen experienced a flash of deja-vu; this was exactly how Dynasty had looked the day she'd confessed the rape.

'I should get someone,' she said anxiously. 'You can't stay like this—'

'No, please.' Dynasty turned and clutched at her. 'Don't leave me, I don't wanna be alone…' She paused, gasping, her colour turning from grey to green and back again. ''M gonna be sick,' she said thickly, staggering back to the sink and throwing up.

Imogen closed her eyes and concentrated on breathing, swallowing hard in her own turn as her friend retched over and over again. When it was done, Dynasty slid limply down to the floor and curled up in a tight ball, her arms crossed over her stomach and tears streaming from her eyes.

Imogen could stand it no longer. Biting deeply into her lip, she pulled out her phone and hit the FaceTime icon, her finger hovering anxiously over her mother-in-law's name. This was something she'd never done before, but Dynasty could not be left and equally she could not handle it herself.

She knelt down by Dynasty and took her hand, yelping at little at the fierceness of the other girl's grip, and dialled. It seemed forever before a startled looking Christine appeared on the tiny screen, and she gave a shuddery sigh of relief.

'You gotta come, it's Dynasty, we're in the loo… she's in agony, _please_ come—'

'I'm on my way,' the older woman interrupted, her tone instantly soothing. She made a spinning motion with her forefinger, and Imogen turned the phone towards Dynasty. 'Dynasty, Dynasty love, can you hear me?'

A groan was her only reply and Imogen flipped the screen round to herself once more. 'She's totally out of it, she's not hearin' you, she's not thinkin straight.'

'OK, I'll get the nurse—'

Dynasty heard _that_.

She lifted her head._ 'No_! Please no, I don't want everyone knowin'…'

Imogen saw her mother-in-law's lips tighten, but all she said was, 'OK, OK. I'll be with you in a second.' She flashed out and Imogen remained crouched by her friend, her eyes fixed hopefully on the door.

Fortunately it was not long before it opened and the Head entered, a soft blanket over her arm. She did not waste time, coming at once to bend over the girl on the floor while Imogen shuffled against the cubicles of one of the toilets to give them room.

Christine draped the blanket over Dynasty before putting a hand on the girl's face.

'Dynasty, come on love, look at me.'

'It hurts,' Dynasty whimpered. 'It's not supposed to 'urt like this, they said it was gonna be like—like a p—period an' I've never 'ad one like this…' She broke off with a gasp.

Imogen watched as her mother-in-law twisted so that she was sitting with her back against the wall, pulling Dynasty into her arms.

'Of course it hurts, love,' she said gently. 'You're nearly nine weeks pregnant, your body has to work to get rid of it… Didn't they give you pain relief?'

'She didn't take it,' Imogen answered for her friend. 'She thought she wouldn't need it.'

Christine rolled her eyes in answer as she rubbed Dynasty's back. The other girl's expression was hidden, but Imogen could tell she was still in pain from the rigidity of her shoulders.

'What are we gonna do? She can't stay here like this!'

Dynasty gave a moan of protest, and Christine threw Imogen a glare as she tried to comfort the girl in her arms. ''Shh, it's all right, we won't move 'til you're ready—'

Dynasty gasped something Imogen could not make out. Christine did understand, and some of the tightly coiled worry inside Imogen eased when she saw the look of relief that passed over her mother-in-law's face.

'Are you sure?'

Dynasty's head moved.

'OK, I'll get onto her right away.' Christine turned to Imogen, smiling. 'Imogen, run to to Sonya and tell her to call Carol Barry. Dynasty wants to go home.'

Imogen beamed as she leapt to her feet—only to pause when she felt her phone buzz insistently in her pocket. Now that she thought of it, she realised it had been buzzing for several minutes but she'd been so engrossed in Dynasty that she'd ignored it. She pulled it out, frowning. Who was texting her at this time?

'Imogen!'

She glanced up, once again chewing her lip. 'It's Connor, he's sent this weird—'

'Leave it,' Christine snapped. 'Connor can wait. Dynasty can't.' When Imogen tried to argue, to remind her mother-in-law of that morning's encounter, the older woman fixed her with her sternest glare. 'Imogen. Move it. _Now_!'

With no choice but to obey, Imogen left, a dull sense of dread nagging at her. There was something so final in that message—almost as if her husband was bidding her farewell.

_Don't do anythin' stupid,_ she thought as she ran to the office. _Please don't do anythin' stupid…_

**12.05pm, Head's Office**

Imogen was not in the habit of bursting into tears but she came perilously close when she entered the secretary's office and found Sonya absent. Thinking quickly, she rifled through the desk, hoping to spot the secretary's trademark techni-coloured notebook—to no avail. Even the computer was no use, for as soon as she wiggled the mouse she was met with the login screen. There was no point in trying to hack it, she was no Kevin Chalk. Even Connor would have a better chance of getting through than she did.

She planted her elbows on the desk and rested her forehead on her fists as she tried to think. Carol Barry needed to be alerted to her daughter's situation, but Dynasty wanted things kept as quiet as possible. Perhaps she could find Kacey—but she'd no idea where the younger girl was and Year 11 were inveterate gossips at the best of times. There was no help to be found there.

That left only one other option.

She sighed, accepting the inevitable, and left the office for the library, where she hoped to find Barry Barry.

_If he makes a fuss about givin' me his mum's number I swear I'll clock him one_, she thought fiercely. _He's given Dyn enough grief as it is this term, he'd better step up this time or else…_

Her stream of thought was interrupted by the sight of her quarry lurking outside the boys' loos next to the library, smirk well in evidence. After everything that had happened it took huge effort to swallow her instinctive dislike and speak civilly.

'I've been looking for you, Barry,' she began placatingly as she approached. His smirk disappeared and the ever-present piece of chewing gum became very visible in his mouth as his eyes raked her curiously.

'Oh yeah? World must be endin' if Miss 'Igh-n-Mighty 'erself condescends to speak to us.'

She looked at him.

'Don't be like that, I know we 'aven't been mates, but I need your help. _Dynasty_ needs your help.'

He continued to chew, seemingly nonchalant, but Imogen had any deaf person's hypersensitivity to body language and she noted how his posture stiffened at her plea. It gave her the confidence to continue.

'She's in a bad way,' she blurted. 'She's in the loos with the Head. She—she wants your mum but Sonya's not in the office an' I can't get her number…'

Barry was already pulling out his phone and Imogen let out the breath she hadn't realised she'd been holding.

He glanced at her as he lifted his mobile to his ear. 'I'm not doin' this fer you,' he said shortly. 'I'm doin' it fer Dyn. She's still me sis… Mam, it's me. It's our Dyn, she's got 'erself in right state an' Mrs Mulgrew wants yer to come in…Nah, I dunno…Mam!—'

'Tell 'er Dynasty's askin' for 'er,' Imogen put in desperately, in case Mrs Barry was stalling. 'Please.'

Barry nodded and spoke again. 'No, Mam, you've got it wrong. It's not Mulgrew that wants yer, it's Dyn 'erself. Imogen says she's in a right bad way… OK. OK, see yer soon.' He moved the mobile from his ear, his thumb ending the call. 'She's comin' now. Where's Dyn?' He was already moving and she had to trot to keep up with him.

'Senior girls, but you can't go in there!'

He turned on her, bristling with anger. 'Sure I can, an' you can't stop me. She's me sister!'

'Yeah, an' that's something you've forgotten most of this term!'

For a moment she thought he would hit her—but he restrained himself, his eyes slitted with dislike, and brushed past her into the toilets. Imogen followed, only just preventing the door from slamming in her face.

'I'm sorry, I couldn't stop 'im,' she gasped in response to Christine's accusing stare. 'He insisted on comin'.'

Her mother-in-law looked resigned.

'It's OK, I know what Barry's like.' She eyed him with disapproval. 'Barry. Listen to me. Your sister's in a very fragile state and she's in a lot of pain. If you put a foot wrong—'

He surprised them both, falling to his knees at his sister's side. 'I know, miss. I get it.' His voice softened. 'Dyn. Dyn, it's me. How ya doin', eh? Yer mate says yer not doin' so good—'

Imogen found that her eyes were damp when Dynasty reacted by hurling herself into her brother's arms, sobbing as though her heart was breaking. Barry's dark head bent over his sister's, and Imogen blinked at Christine, wondering if the older woman felt as superfluous as she did. She must have done, for she got slowly to her feet, pausing to tuck the blanket's edges around Dynasty's shoulders.

'Lean against the wall and be comfortable,' she instructed Barry softly, so softly that Imogen ended up lipreading rather than hearing. 'It's a bit hard on your back otherwise.'

Barry shot her something resembling his usual cocky grin. 'Yeah, if yer old.'

Christine's eyes went wide. 'Barry _Barry_—'

He interrupted, his tone turned gentle once more. 'Will she be OK?' He glanced at the frizzy golden head at his shoulder. 'Shouldn't she be at t'hospital or sommat?'

'She'll be fine at home,' Christine assured him. 'She just needs some TLC.' She looked at her watch. 'Is your mum coming? Imogen—'

'_I_ called 'er,' Barry cut in. 'Imogen couldn't find Sonya. She shouldn't be long.'

'Barry Barry, 'aven't I told yer an' told yer that _she_ is the cat's mother,' Carol Barry scolded as she burst in, breathing hard as if she'd been running. She stopped, her manner changing as she breathed out her daughter's name. 'Dynasty. God, love, what've you done to yourself?'

'She won't stop cryin', Mam.' Barry sounded helpless. 'She keeps sayin' it's 'urtin'—'

''Course it does.' Carol exchanged a wry glance with Christine. 'You men, you've no idea what pain is. OK, then, love, let's get yer home. Can yer get up?'

Dynasty gave an odd little noise that Imogen couldn't decipher, but her mother brother understood. Carefully, they got her to her feet, Barry steadying her as Christine and Carol wrapped her the blanket. Literally embraced by her family, Dynasty was moved slowly towards the door.

She jerked to a stop as Christine leaned to open it.

'Miss, the meetin—'

'Forget it,' the Head ordered. 'Just concentrate on getting well.'

Dynasty sniffed, wiping at her nose with a shaky hand. 'Got to, don't I?' She gulped, her brow furrowing as her fingers clawed into arms that supported her. 'Im… Imogen… you do it.' She managed a wobbly smile. 'You be 'Ead Girl til I get back. 'S'OK, ain't it?' she added anxiously, turning panda-ringed blue eyes to Imogen's mother-in-law.

The Head made a sharp gesture, summoning Imogen to her side, her eyes demanding that Imogen provide the reassurance Dynasty clearly needed. Not that Imogen needed any urging; she pulled the door open and nodded towards the corridor beyond.

'Now yer just wastin' time,' she said briskly in a tone that would have done credit to Christine herself. ''Course I'll take over, it's me job. _You_ need to get better and stop worrying, right?'

Dynasty gave another of those wobbly smiles. 'I'll see yer.' Still supported, she staggered out of the loo while Christine and Imogen followed. Once they'd reached the double doors of the main school building, she turned once more.

'Im…Tell Kev.' She sniffed again. 'Tell 'im I'm sorry. An' Connor too, y—you g—gotta—make…'

'Shut it, love,' her mother told her firmly. 'Barry, I'm goin' to open t'car. You get 'er down t'steps an' into it. Christine—'

'It doesn't matter,' Christine said. 'Just… _go_, for God's sake!'

Imogen came to stand beside her as they watched the fully loaded Barry vehicle zoom out of the car park. 'Will she be OK?'

Her mother-in-law cast her a glance before surprising her by putting an arm around her shoulders. Christine, she knew, was rarely demonstrative.

'Only time will tell.' Imogen felt her sigh, the warm gust of it lifting her hair. 'But I think… I think she'll be fine. Eventually. Now,' she went on, her tone becoming headmistressy once again, 'what's this you were telling me about Connor?'

Imogen slipped a hand behind her back and crossed her fingers. Her mother-in-law had just been relieved of one dragging concern; she did not want to give her another, especially when it was so nebulous. She raised her eyes to Christine's and gave her what she hoped was a convincing smile.

'Nothin'. 'E's just bein' a drama king again. Don't worry, I'll sort him.'

The older woman heaved another sigh and glanced at her watch. 'Thank God for that. I still need to apologise to him, but I'm due at a meeting now. Tell him I want to see him as soon as he's got a minute, OK?'

'Sure.'

Imogen kept her smile pasted on her face long after the Head left, mind and stomach alike churning as new worries and anxieties sprouted to take place of the old.

* * *

TBC

* * *

Apologies if this isn't properly proofed. I've been up to the eyes and my computer has just updated (I'm on a Macbook) so things are at sixes and sevens a little as the computer keeps doing things I don't expect! Oh, and FaceTime=AMAZING if you're deaf. It has literally transformed my life in the last year—I can talk (even sign!) with both deaf and hearing iOS owning friends, something that's become nearly impossible over the phone. Thus, Imogen could quite plausibly use it even if she is profoundly deaf in this.

* * *

**Next time: **

Imogen and Kevin find themselves acting as Head Girl and Boy in the Barrys' absence, Christine realises she's lost a couple of students—including her own son—and Connor finds himself in deep trouble...


End file.
